Chapter Text
The rain had stopped hours ago, but the city still smelled like wet concrete and cigarette smoke.
Night settled over Tokyo in a haze of glowing neon signs and puddles reflecting traffic lights below.
Cold wind swept between the tall buildings near Beika University, sharp enough to sting exposed skin.
Inside one of the crowded student apartments several blocks away from campus, Kaito Kuroba stared at the convenience store uniform tossed carelessly across the floor.
Fired.
Again.
Honestly, he should have expected it.
Apparently customers did not appreciate a cashier disappearing during shifts to “practice card tricks with the receipt printer.” His manager definitely hadn’t appreciated it.
Kaito sighed deeply and buried his face into his hands.
The tiny apartment smelled faintly of instant noodles and cheap coffee. His engineering textbooks were stacked beside chemistry notes filled with messy handwriting and caffeine stains. Half-finished machine sketches littered the floor beside loose bolts and wires from a project he still hadn’t completed.
University life had not turned out the way he imagined.
Back in high school, he had been famous.
Ekoda High’s beloved magician.
Bright smiles. Loud laughter. Easy grades.
Back then, life had still felt simple.
Before hospitals.
Before funerals.
Before silence filled the Kuroba house.
Kaito’s chest tightened slightly at the thought.
His father, Toichi Kuroba, had died during Kaito’s second year of high school.
One day he had been there, smiling and performing stupid little magic tricks in the kitchen while making breakfast—
And the next, he was gone.
Everything after that became blurry.
The funeral.
The endless condolences.
The heavy feeling of walking into a home that no longer sounded alive.
Even now, Kaito still caught himself expecting Toichi to suddenly appear around corners with that dramatic grin of his, laughing as if this had all been one elaborate prank.
But reality was crueler than that.
And grief changed people.
His mother changed too.
At first, Chikage Kuroba tried staying home.
But eventually she began traveling constantly, disappearing from country to country in an attempt to escape the grief swallowing her whole.
France.
Italy.
Singapore.
Anywhere but home.
She said traveling helped her breathe again.
Kaito wanted to understand.
Really, he did.
Because he missed Toichi just as much.
But understanding something did not stop it from hurting.
Especially when the bills kept piling up.
Chikage barely worked anymore. There was no stable income left after Toichi’s death, yet she continued drifting around the world while Kaito stayed behind trying to keep everything from collapsing completely.
So Kaito worked instead.
Convenience stores.
Late-night restaurants.
Warehouse jobs.
Anything willing to hire an exhausted teenager desperate for money.
Some nights he came home too tired to even shower, collapsing onto his bed still wearing his work uniform while unfinished chemistry assignments stared at him from across the room.
And somehow—
Despite all of it—
He still managed to earn a scholarship to Tokyo University.
Honestly, it was probably the only reason he could still attend at all.
Without it?
There was no chance.
Now?
Now he wore worn-out sneakers with holes near the soles and spent entire nights calculating whether he could survive another week eating convenience store bread.
Funny how adulthood did that to people.
Kaito leaned back in his chair and glanced toward the expensive campus magazine lying open on his desk.
One page showed a photograph of a university art exhibition.
And right there in the center—
Kudo Shinichi.
Rich.
Perfect.
Annoyingly handsome.
The article practically worshipped him.
The heir of the famous Kudo family.
Top art student.
Drives imported sports cars.
Lives alone in a luxury penthouse.
Kaito stared at the picture longer than he should have.
Shinichi wore a dark wool coat over a cream turtleneck, one hand tucked casually into his pocket while reporters crowded around him. Even in a photograph, he looked untouchable.
The kind of person who probably had no idea how much instant ramen cost.
And Kaito hated how jealous that made him feel.
Because it wasn’t Shinichi’s fault.
That was the worst part.
Kudo Shinichi had never done anything to him.
The guy was just born lucky.
Born into warmth.
Into security.
Into a life where losing one thing probably wouldn’t destroy everything else around him.
Meanwhile Kaito spent every month wondering whether he could afford groceries after paying lab fees.
The bitterness sitting in his chest felt ugly.
Worse—
It made him feel guilty.
His father would probably hate seeing him like this.
Jealous.
Desperate.
Standing on the edge of becoming someone Toichi never raised him to be.
Kaito stared at the magazine silently for a long moment before letting out a quiet laugh filled with exhaustion.
“Seriously…” he muttered bitterly. “One designer shoe probably costs more than my monthly groceries.”
And that was how the terrible idea began.
———
Kaito did his research carefully.
If he was going to do something illegal, then at least he would do it properly.
Over the next week, he lingered near conversations around campus cafés, quietly collecting information.
Address.
Schedule.
Habits.
It turned out rich people were surprisingly easy to track when everyone loved talking about them.
Especially Kudo Shinichi.
“Yeah, he lives near the harbor district.”
“I heard the penthouse takes up the entire top floor.”
“He skipped class again because he stayed in the studio for three days straight.”
Kaito memorized everything.
But the closer the plan became, the worse his anxiety grew.
Every night, his chest tightened the moment he thought about it.
His heartbeat would spike violently the second he imagined getting caught.
Sometimes he genuinely wondered if he had finally lost his mind.
Breaking into someone’s apartment?
Stealing from a classmate?
Using a homemade glider to escape from a skyscraper?
That sounded less like a survival plan and more like the beginning of a criminal documentary.
Yet every time he checked his bank account, reality crushed his hesitation immediately.
Tuition.
Living expenses.
Project fees.
Food.
The numbers kept shrinking.
Meanwhile, his mother was somewhere overseas spending money she technically did not have.
Kaito groaned loudly one night and buried his face into the desk.
“This is insane…”
But he still continued planning anyway.
Because desperate people did desperate things.
And Kaito Kuroba was running out of choices.
Eventually, one Thursday evening, he stood across the street from Shinichi’s apartment building.
The skyscraper rose high into the dark night sky, its upper floors glowing faintly against the clouds.
Luxury cars lined the entrance.
Warm golden lights shone behind massive windows.
Kaito adjusted the black mask covering the lower half of his face.
His outfit was simple.
Black hoodie.
Black cargo pants.
Black gloves.
A black baseball cap pulled low enough to shadow his eyes.
Not exactly stylish, but functional.
Hidden beneath his backpack was his favorite invention from engineering class—a compact foldable hang glider he had spent months secretly modifying.
His emergency escape route.
His insane idea.
Honestly, the glider itself was probably the craziest part of this entire plan.
The first time he tested it, he nearly broke his arm landing into a tree.
The second time, he accidentally terrified an old woman walking her dog.
But now?
Now his life somehow depended on it.
Kaito stared up at the building again.
His pulse hammered violently inside his ears.
Too late to back out now.
The cold night wind brushed against his face as he slipped quietly into the building through the parking garage entrance.
Getting past security took effort.
Getting through the elevator system took more effort.
But lockpicking?
Easy.
That skill never left him.
Not after years of sneaking around as a magician’s son.
Not after countless afternoons dismantling locks for fun while his father laughed proudly beside him.
For a brief second, the memory hurt.
Kaito shoved it away quickly.
No time for that.
A soft click echoed through the quiet penthouse hallway as the lock opened.
Then silence.
Kaito stepped inside.
And immediately froze.
The apartment was enormous.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the glittering city skyline. Soft jazz music played quietly from hidden speakers. The furniture looked absurdly expensive, all dark wood and sleek modern design.
And somehow—
the place still looked strangely lived in.
Sketchbooks and charcoal pencils were scattered across the dining table. Several unfinished canvases leaned carelessly against the walls.
Paint stains remained on the floor near the studio area.
Kaito blinked slowly.
“…An art major really lives like this?”
For a second, guilt twisted uncomfortably in his stomach.
This wasn’t some corrupt businessman.
This was just…
a tired rich student who spent too much time painting.
Still—
business first.
Kaito forced himself to move.
He slipped a designer lighter into his pocket.
Some loose cash.
A silver accessory left carelessly near the couch.
Small things only.
Easy to carry.
Easy to sell.
But honestly—
his focus kept drifting away.
Because everywhere he looked, there were traces of Shinichi.
Half-finished sketches.
Coffee cups abandoned beside paint tubes.
Notes written messily in the margins of art books.
Kaito found himself staring more than stealing.
Then—
The front door opened.
Kaito’s entire body locked up.
Footsteps.
A tired sigh.
And then—
Blue eyes met his across the room.
Silence.
Both of them stared at each other.
Kudo Shinichi looked exhausted beyond belief.
His white dress shirt sleeves were rolled up messily to his elbows, charcoal stains smudged across his fingers and collar. A long dark coat hung loosely from his shoulders.
There were even charcoal marks on his cheek.
He looked less like a rich heir and more like a man moments away from collapsing.
Unfortunately, he also immediately noticed the thief standing in his apartment.
“…What.”
Kaito reacted first.
His heartbeat exploded instantly.
Shit.
SHIT.
He bolted toward the balcony.
“HEY—!”
Shinichi dropped his bag instantly and sprinted after him.
“THIEF!”
Kaito shoved open the balcony doors as freezing wind rushed violently inside.
The city spread beneath them.
Forty-nine floors down.
Far enough to kill someone instantly.
For half a second, fear hit him so hard his legs almost froze.
This was insane.
Actually insane.
What kind of idiot jumps off a skyscraper with a homemade glider?
Oh right.
Him.
Shinichi reached the balcony just in time to watch the thief climb onto the railing without hesitation.
“What the hell are you—”
And then Kaito jumped.
Shinichi’s heart nearly stopped.
For one horrifying second, the thief disappeared into empty air.
Then suddenly—
A white glider unfolded beneath the moonlight.
The figure soared sharply between buildings, caught by the strong night wind like a bird disappearing into Tokyo’s glowing skyline.
Kaito’s own pulse thundered wildly as the air slammed against him.
The glider shook violently for a moment before stabilizing.
His hands gripped the controls tightly.
Adrenaline burned through every nerve in his body.
He was alive.
Holy shit.
He actually did it.
Below him, Tokyo glittered endlessly like stars scattered across the earth itself.
Behind him, far above on the balcony, Shinichi remained completely still.
———
Far above the city, Shinichi remained standing near the balcony railing in complete disbelief.
The cold night wind whipped violently through his hair and clothes, yet he barely noticed it.
His eyes stayed fixed on the shrinking figure gliding between Tokyo’s buildings.
“…No way,” he muttered under his breath.
For several long seconds, his brain genuinely struggled to process what he had just witnessed.
A thief.
A literal thief.
Had just jumped off the forty-ninth floor of his apartment building—
And flown away.
Not with ropes.
Not with some professional escape equipment.
But with an actual glider unfolding beneath the moonlight like wings.
It should have looked ridiculous.
Stupid, even.
Instead—
It had looked strangely beautiful.
The way the white glider caught the wind.
The smooth curve of the descent.
The silhouette disappearing into the glowing skyline like some phantom drifting through the night.
Shinichi slowly exhaled.
“…That was insane.”
And somehow—
That idiot actually survived it.
The adrenaline finally faded from his body, leaving behind overwhelming exhaustion.
Shinichi leaned tiredly against the balcony doorway, pressing one hand over his face.
Today had already been a complete disaster long before the robbery happened.
Earlier that morning, his professor had informed him that nearly two hundred charcoal paintings were ruined overnight after water leaked through the studio roof during the storm.
Two hundred.
Weeks of work.
Gone.
Some completely soaked.
Others smeared beyond repair.
He had spent hours inside the studio trying to salvage what little remained, breathing charcoal dust and staring at destroyed canvases until his head started hurting.
By the time he finally left campus, he was already functioning purely on caffeine and spite.
Then he came home—
Only to discover someone robbing his apartment.
A flying someone, apparently.
Shinichi dragged a hand down his face tiredly, accidentally smearing charcoal even further across his cheek.
Honestly?
After the day he had?
“…He earned it,” Shinichi muttered dryly.
A tired laugh escaped him afterward.
“Anyone crazy enough to jump off a skyscraper with a homemade glider probably deserves the payout.”
His gaze drifted once more toward the distant skyline where the thief had disappeared.
Then a small amused breath escaped him.
“That glider was ridiculously cool though.”
He finally stepped back inside the apartment and shut the balcony doors firmly.
Click.
Locked.
The penthouse immediately became quiet again.
Soft jazz still played faintly from the speakers.
Several drawers remained half-open from the robbery.
The absence of a few valuables barely registered in Shinichi’s exhausted brain anymore.
Right now, sleep mattered more.
He loosened his coat while walking toward his bedroom, nearly tripping once from fatigue.
The moment he reached the bed, he collapsed face-first onto the mattress without even changing clothes.
Within seconds—
He was completely asleep.
———
Meanwhile, the next few days passed with Kaito aggressively reorganizing his budget while surviving almost entirely on plain rice, instant noodles, and convenience store coffee.
The small table in his apartment was covered with scattered receipts, notebooks, and crumpled calculations written in frustration.
Rent.
Books.
Lab fees.
Transportation.
Food.
Electricity.
Every number made his headache worse.
Kaito leaned back in his chair with a groan, running both hands through his messy hair.
Ever since the night at Shinichi’s penthouse, he had been constantly tense.
Every time he walked across campus, he expected security guards to suddenly stop him.
Expected police officers to appear.
Expected someone to grab his shoulder and say
‘We know it was you.’
But days passed.
Nothing happened.
No police reports.
No news articles.
No mention of a mysterious thief breaking into the Kudo residence.
Kaito even searched online himself late at night just to be sure.
Still nothing.
Which honestly made the entire situation feel even stranger.
“…Did he seriously not report it?” Kaito muttered under his breath.
Normal rich people would absolutely report something like that.
Especially after someone literally jumped off a forty-nine-story balcony.
But apparently Kudo Shinichi either didn’t care enough—
Or was insane.
Possibly both.
Kaito clicked his tongue and returned his attention to the paper in front of him.
Unfortunately, his problems were far from over.
Earlier that morning, one of his engineering professors had assigned a new individual project.
Normally that would have been manageable.
Except this project required actual materials.
Expensive materials.
Metal components.
Circuit parts.
Specialized chemical supplies.
Kaito stared blankly at the estimated cost written on the syllabus before dropping his head directly onto the table.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me…”
His voice came out muffled against the wood surface.
Where the hell was he supposed to get that kind of money now?
He had already lost his part-time job.
His savings were practically nonexistent.
And unless he suddenly discovered a hidden talent for printing money, he was completely screwed.
His phone suddenly rang across the table.
Kaito groaned before lazily reaching for it.
The screen lit up with one familiar name.
Mom.
Kaito paused slightly before answering.
“….Hello?”
His mother’s voice came through brightly.
“Oh, Kaito, darling! About your tuition—”
Kaito immediately narrowed his eyes.
“That tone already sounds dangerous.”
“Yes, well…” Chikage laughed awkwardly from the other side of the phone. “I’m cutting it off for now.”
Silence.
Kaito slowly stood up from his chair.
“…What do you mean cutting it off?”
“I’m traveling overseas again for work, sweetheart. Things are complicated financially right now.”
“You were literally in Paris last week.”
“Exactly. Very expensive.”
“Oka-san.”
Kaito pressed a hand against his forehead, already feeling a headache forming.
The tiny apartment suddenly felt suffocatingly warm.
Outside the window, rainwater still dripped from the fire escape in slow uneven rhythms.
Meanwhile, unpaid bills sat scattered across his desk beside project papers he still had no money to complete.
“You can’t just suddenly say something like that,” Kaito snapped, exhaustion finally bleeding into his voice. “Do you even realize how expensive Tokyo is?”
“I know that—”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
His words came out harsher than intended.
But he was tired.
So unbelievably tired.
“I’m already working part-time jobs just to survive here,” he continued bitterly. “And now I have university projects that need materials I can’t even afford. Do you know how ridiculous this is?”
“Kaito…”
“You keep traveling everywhere pretending things are fine while I’m stuck here trying to clean up everything alone.”
The moment the words left his mouth, silence answered him.
Then—
A quiet shaky breath.
Kaito froze.
“…Oka-san?”
When Chikage spoke again, her voice sounded smaller than before.
“I know I’ve been selfish.”
The anger in Kaito’s chest faltered slightly.
“I know I haven’t been there enough,” she whispered weakly. “But every time I stay in that house for too long… I keep seeing your father everywhere.”
Kaito’s expression tightened.
“He’s in the kitchen making coffee.”
A shaky laugh escaped her.
“He’s on the couch reading newspapers.”
Another pause.
“I still reach for my phone sometimes because I think I should call him.”
Kaito looked away quietly.
“I tried staying home after he died,” Chikage continued softly, voice trembling more now. “I really tried. But the silence there hurts so much I feel like I can’t breathe.”
Then Kaito heard it.
Crying.
Small at first.
Then harder.
And suddenly the guilt hit him all at once.
Because no matter how angry he was—
No matter how abandoned he sometimes felt—
This woman had lost her husband.
The love of her life.
And maybe she was handling it terribly, but she was still grieving.
Kaito closed his eyes and exhaled shakily.
His grip around the phone loosened.
“…Damn it,” he muttered quietly under his breath.
“I’m sorry,” Chikage whispered through tears. “I know I’m a terrible mother right now.”
“No,” Kaito said immediately, softer this time. “Don’t say that.”
The apartment fell quiet except for the distant sound of rain outside.
Kaito rubbed his tired face slowly.
Part of him still wanted to be angry.
Honestly, part of him was angry.
But hearing her cry made it impossible to keep shouting.
Finally, he let out a long exhausted sigh.
“…I’ll figure something out,” he murmured.
“Kaito—”
“It’s fine.”
It wasn’t fine.
Not even remotely.
But he would survive somehow.
He always did.
After the call ended, Kaito stood silently in the middle of his cramped apartment for a long moment.
Then his eyes slowly drifted toward the notebook resting near the edge of his desk.
Inside was a familiar address.
Kudo Shinichi.
Penthouse apartment.
Rich.
Very robbable.
And unfortunately—
already completely memorized in his head.
The security routes.
The blind spots between hallway cameras.
Which emergency staircase connected directly toward the upper floors.
Even the timing of the night guards downstairs.
Kaito had already studied everything days ago.
At this point, he probably knew the infiltration route better than the building staff themselves.
Kaito groaned loudly and dropped backward onto his chair, covering his face with both hands.
“…Dad would absolutely kill me for this.”
Because honestly—
targeting a rich university student with absurdly high security and private penthouse access sounded exactly like the kind of reckless nonsense Toichi would mock him endlessly for.
And yet—
Kaito was still considering it anyway.
Very seriously.
———
The second time felt worse somehow.
More deliberate.
More real.
Kaito stood across the street from the luxury apartment building with both hands buried inside the pockets of his dark jacket while cold evening wind brushed through the city.
The sky above Tokyo was cloudy again, heavy with the promise of rain.
Traffic lights reflected against wet asphalt below, glowing red and gold beneath the passing cars.
Kaito adjusted the black cap lower over his eyes and quietly watched the building entrance from across the road.
This time, he came prepared.
Over the past week, he had carefully memorized Shinichi’s schedule.
Art lectures in the morning.
Private studio sessions during afternoons.
Late-night mentoring meetings twice a week with one of Tokyo’s famous art professors.
Kaito hated how easy rich people were to track.
Tonight was one of those mentoring nights.
Meaning Shinichi would not return for at least another two hours.
More than enough time.
Kaito exhaled slowly before crossing the street.
The familiar thrill settled uncomfortably beneath his ribs as he slipped into the building again.
Not excitement.
Not really.
More like survival instinct wrapped in adrenaline.
The security system had already been mapped out in his head. Cameras. Blind spots. Elevator timing.
And lockpicking?
Still easy.
The penthouse door clicked open softly beneath his tools.
Kaito stepped inside quietly.
The apartment looked almost the same as before.
Still spotless.
Still absurdly expensive.
Still smelling faintly of coffee, paint thinner, and charcoal.
Only now, Kaito noticed something different.
The paintings scattered around the apartment looked… unfinished.
Several canvases had been abandoned halfway through. Charcoal sketches covered the dining table in messy frustrated strokes, some aggressively crossed out.
One canvas near the window was completely black except for rough streaks clawed violently across it.
Kaito blinked slightly.
“…Yikes.”
Apparently rich art students had emotional breakdowns too.
Still, he forced himself to focus.
No distractions.
Tonight he moved faster.
Watches.
Jewelry.
Designer accessories.
Anything valuable enough to sell quickly.
Then his eyes landed on a polished wooden case near the studio area.
Kaito opened it carefully.
And nearly choked.
Inside rested an expensive collection of professional painting supplies.
Rare imported brushes.
Premium pigments.
Custom charcoal sets.
Even Kaito, someone completely outside the art world, knew these things cost a ridiculous amount of money.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me,” he whispered.
Rich people hobbies were terrifying.
Still hesitating slightly, Kaito carefully packed several items into his bag.
The guilt came almost immediately afterward.
A twisting uncomfortable feeling in his chest.
Because unlike cash or watches—
These clearly mattered to Shinichi.
The unfinished canvases around the apartment made that obvious.
For a brief second, Kaito paused.
Then he looked down at his worn sneakers.
Thought about unpaid tuition.
Thought about project costs.
Thought about his mother crying over the phone.
And quietly shoved the guilt away.
Kudo Shinichi was rich.
He would survive losing a few expensive art supplies.
Kaito, meanwhile, was one bad month away from completely falling apart.
So he forced himself not to think too hard about it.
After grabbing the last valuables he could carry, Kaito slipped toward the balcony once more.
Cold wind hit his face immediately.
Far below, Tokyo glittered endlessly beneath the night sky.
Kaito unfolded the compact glider from his backpack with practiced movements.
Before stepping onto the railing, he glanced back toward the apartment one last time.
“He can just buy another one anyway,” he muttered quietly.
Then he jumped.
The glider snapped open sharply against the wind.
And once again, the thief disappeared into the city lights.
———
About forty minutes later, Shinichi returned home exhausted.
His shoulders ached from sitting in the studio all day.
A sketchbook rested under one arm while his dark coat hung loosely over his wrinkled black turtleneck. Faint charcoal stains smudged his fingers again, stubborn as always.
Tonight’s mentoring session had gone terribly.
Absolutely terribly.
His professor had stared at his recent work for nearly five full minutes before sighing deeply.
“You’ve lost your direction again, Shinichi.”
Not exactly the inspiring feedback he wanted.
The truth was, Shinichi already knew that.
For weeks now, every canvas felt empty.
Forced.
Nothing he painted felt alive anymore.
No matter how many hours he spent staring at blank canvases, inspiration refused to come back.
It was frustrating.
Exhausting.
And honestly beginning to scare him.
Shinichi stepped into the apartment while rubbing tiredly at his eyes.
Then immediately stopped.
Silence.
Something felt wrong.
The balcony door was slightly open.
Cold wind drifted through the room.
And several things were missing.
Shinichi stared blankly at the half-empty shelf near the studio area.
Then at the open wooden paint case.
Then at the messy signs of someone rummaging through his apartment.
Again.
“…No way.”
For several seconds, he simply stood there in disbelief.
Then slowly—
Very slowly—
Shinichi walked toward the balcony.
He stared out across the glowing city skyline below, cool wind brushing through his dark hair.
And despite himself—
A laugh escaped him.
Soft.
Disbelieving.
“That guy seriously came back.”
Only then did Shinichi finally realize something absurd.
He had actually forgotten.
Forgotten that his apartment had already been robbed once before.
The stolen items.
The broken lock.
The missing valuables.
All of it had slowly disappeared from his mind over the past few days beneath exhaustion, university work, and endless painting sessions.
Honestly—
the thief’s second appearance felt less like a crime and more like an unexpected return.
Which was probably a very concerning realization.
Shinichi rubbed his tired face with one hand before exhaling quietly.
“…I seriously need sleep.”
Then he shut the apartment door behind him slowly, the quiet click echoing through the penthouse.
Cold night air still drifted in from the half-open balcony doors, carrying the distant sounds of traffic far below.
For a long moment, Shinichi simply stood there staring at the mess left behind.
Not much, surprisingly.
The thief was selective.
Careful.
Several expensive watches were gone from the shelf near the entrance. A few small valuables had disappeared from the living room drawers.
And—
Shinichi’s gaze shifted toward the studio area.
“…My painting supplies too?”
He walked over slowly, crouching beside the opened wooden case.
Several imported brushes were missing.
Rare charcoal sticks.
Some expensive pigments he had bought overseas last year.
Honestly, whoever this thief was had better taste than most criminals.
Shinichi exhaled quietly and set his sketchbook down on the table.
Then habit kicked in.
He began checking the apartment carefully.
The balcony railing.
The door lock.
The windows.
Any traces left behind.
But there was almost nothing.
No fingerprints.
No obvious footprints.
Even the lock showed barely any damage.
The thief clearly knew what he was doing.
Shinichi straightened slowly, one hand resting against the kitchen counter as he thought.
Normally, this was the part where someone called the police.
Especially after getting robbed twice by the same person.
His phone was already sitting in his pocket.
All he had to do was make one call.
But instead, Shinichi stayed still.
Thinking.
Then after several quiet seconds, he pulled his hand away from his phone entirely.
“…Nah.”
Honestly?
The stolen items could all be replaced.
Easily.
The watches.
The supplies.
Even the cash.
None of it would actually affect his life.
And strangely enough, he still wasn’t angry.
Annoyed, maybe.
Curious, definitely.
But not angry.
Shinichi walked toward the massive windows overlooking the city and slowly slid the balcony doors further open.
Cold night wind rushed into the apartment immediately, brushing against his skin and stirring the loose strands of dark hair falling over his eyes.
Far below, Tokyo glittered endlessly beneath the cloudy sky.
Traffic lights blurred together like rivers of color stretching through the streets, while distant sirens echoed faintly between the buildings.
For a while, Shinichi simply stood there in silence.
Tired.
Mentally exhausted.
His apartment had been robbed twice now, yet somehow that wasn’t what occupied his thoughts the most.
Instead, his mind drifted back toward him.
The thief.
And suddenly—
He could see the scene clearly all over again.
That moment on the balcony.
The thief standing carelessly on the railing forty-nine floors above the ground, black clothes snapping violently in the wind.
Fear had hit Shinichi instantly back then.
Real fear.
Because for one horrifying second, he genuinely thought the idiot was about to die right in front of him.
He still remembered the awful feeling in his chest when the figure jumped.
That split second of weightlessness.
The empty drop beneath him.
Shinichi had never felt his heart stop so violently before.
But instead—
White glider unfolded against the night sky.
The glider spread open beautifully beneath the moonlight, catching the wind in one smooth elegant motion.
And suddenly the falling figure transformed into something else entirely.
Not a desperate criminal.
Not a cornered thief.
But something almost unreal.
The white glider curved gracefully through the dark sky as the figure soared between towering buildings, disappearing into the glowing city lights below like a bird escaping its cage.
Elegant.
Weightless.
Free.
Shinichi’s chest tightened unexpectedly.
Because that feeling—
That image—
It was beautiful.
Not in a normal way.
Not polished or perfect like expensive gallery pieces.
It was alive.
The kind of moment impossible to recreate intentionally.
And for the first time in weeks—
Shinichi felt something spark inside him again.
His eyes widened slightly.
Then suddenly, something in his mind clicked sharply into place.
Inspiration.
Fast.
Sudden.
Violent enough to make his pulse jump.
“Ah—”
Before the feeling could disappear, Shinichi immediately turned and hurried toward his studio desk.
His exhaustion vanished almost instantly beneath pure creative impulse.
He grabbed a pencil without thinking and flipped open the nearest sketchbook so quickly several loose papers slid onto the floor.
His hand moved before his thoughts could fully catch up.
Quick strokes.
Messy lines.
The city skyline.
The open balcony.
A dark figure falling endlessly through empty air—
Only for white glider to bloom beneath the moonlight.
The more Shinichi drew, the clearer everything became.
The wind tearing through fabric.
The terrifying height.
The impossible freedom in that leap.
Charcoal smudged across his fingers as his breathing gradually steadied for the first time in days.
No frustration.
No creative block strangling his thoughts.
No empty canvases mocking him.
Just movement.
Emotion.
Life.
His pencil moved almost desperately now, trying to capture the feeling before it escaped him again.
By the time Shinichi finally stopped, charcoal dust stained his hands and the sleeve of his black turtleneck.
The sketchbook page before him was rough and unfinished.
But alive.
Very alive.
Shinichi leaned back slowly in his chair, breathing quietly as he stared down at the drawing.
Then, little by little—
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
“…Heh.”
A soft laugh escaped him, tired but genuine.
“Well,” Shinichi murmured quietly, eyes lingering on the sketched figure gliding through the night sky, “I didn’t expect to get inspired by a criminal.”
He rested his chin against one hand, still staring at the page.
Somehow amused.
Somehow fascinated.
“What a ridiculous joke.”
———
One month later—
The painting still consumed Shinichi entirely.
What started as a rough midnight sketch had slowly evolved into something far bigger than he originally intended.
And honestly?
It drove him insane.
Because no matter how many times he painted it—
It still felt wrong.
Too stiff.
Too lifeless.
Too artificial.
Again and again, failed versions piled across his studio floor like evidence of obsession.
Some focused too much on realism.
Others looked beautiful but emotionally empty.
None of them captured the feeling.
That exact feeling from that night.
Shinichi experimented relentlessly.
Different lighting studies.
Different perspectives.
Different paint textures.
He even changed canvases multiple times because the surface tension affected how the moonlight blended across the skyline.
For the city itself, Shinichi used layered glazing techniques—thin transparent layers of oil paint stacked repeatedly over one another to create depth within the lights of Tokyo.
It took days just to perfect that effect.
At certain angles, the city almost appeared to glow from inside the canvas itself.
The sky was even worse.
Too dark, and the painting became heavy.
Too bright, and the atmosphere disappeared completely.
To create the clouds, Shinichi mixed dry-brush textures with soft blending techniques using worn fan brushes, allowing the moonlight to bleed subtly through the darker tones without sharp transitions.
He wanted the night sky to feel alive.
Cold.
Breathing.
The hardest part, however—
Was the glider.
White was notoriously difficult to paint realistically under moonlight because pure white looked flat and unnatural on canvas.
So instead of using actual white paint alone, Shinichi layered pale blue, silver-gray, muted lavender, and soft ash tones beneath thin highlights of titanium white.
Every fold of the glider fabric reflected different shades depending on the angle of the imagined wind.
Even the movement itself required dozens of studies.
He spent hours sketching fabric motion repeatedly just to understand how tension would pull against the wings mid-flight.
At one point, he nearly lost his mind trying to recreate the exact curve of the glider cutting through air.
Because movement could not simply look correct.
It needed to feel correct.
The figure itself remained mostly hidden in shadow intentionally.
Shinichi avoided detailed facial features completely.
Instead, he used silhouette contrast and negative space composition to draw attention toward the shape of the body against the glowing skyline.
That anonymity somehow made the scene stronger.
Lonelier.
More distant.
And strangely beautiful.
More than once, Shinichi nearly abandoned the entire piece out of frustration.
At one point, he had shoved the unfinished canvas against the wall for almost a week because university assignments kept piling up endlessly.
Art theory reports.
Gallery analysis.
Mandatory studio projects.
Critiques.
Presentations.
Half the time, he barely slept.
The other half, he looked like a corpse surviving entirely on coffee and stubbornness.
Even now, standing alone inside his apartment studio at three in the morning, Shinichi looked completely terrible.
Dark circles shadowed beneath his eyes.
Several charcoal smudges stained his jaw and neck.
His black shirt carried streaks of dried paint across the sleeves, while his hair looked like he had repeatedly run his hands through it for hours.
Because he had.
The entire apartment smelled faintly of oil paint, turpentine, coffee, and exhaustion.
And yet—
When Shinichi finally stepped back from the finished canvas tonight—
His breath caught slightly.
There it was.
Finally.
Perfect.
The massive painting stood illuminated beneath the soft studio lights near the balcony area of his apartment.
The composition itself was deceptively simple.
Tall glass doors leading toward the balcony stretched across the canvas, sheer white curtains moving gently from the cold night wind slipping inside.
Beyond the balcony railing—
Tokyo glittered endlessly beneath the dark sky.
The city lights blurred together through layered brushwork and softened glazing, creating rivers of gold, white, and crimson stretching between distant buildings.
And above it all—
White glider unfolded against the night sky.
The glider spread open beautifully beneath the moonlight, catching the wind in one smooth elegant motion.
The silver-blue highlights along the wings shimmered softly against the darkness, almost blending into the clouds themselves.
The figure beneath it remained little more than a shadow.
Faceless.
Untouchable.
But alive.
The entire painting carried movement so naturally it almost seemed unfinished in the best possible way—
As if the glider might vanish beyond the canvas at any second.
Freedom.
Danger.
Loneliness.
A strange kind of beauty impossible to explain.
It no longer looked like a thief escaping.
It looked like someone desperately trying to outrun gravity itself.
Shinichi stared at the painting quietly.
His chest tightened unexpectedly.
Because somehow—
Without realizing it—
He had poured far too much emotion into this piece.
More than any assignment.
More than any gallery work.
More than anything he had painted in months.
The worst part?
It all came from one insane moment with a criminal he never even saw properly.
“…Ridiculous,” Shinichi muttered softly.
But there was no irritation left in his voice now.
Only quiet fascination.
Slowly, he approached the painting again.
His fingertips brushed lightly against the dried paint near the glider wings.
The layered texture caught the studio light beautifully beneath his touch.
Beautiful.
Even Shinichi hated admitting it.
That moment had become beautiful in his memory.
Too beautiful.
And maybe that was exactly why he could not stop thinking about it.
Outside the massive windows, Tokyo remained awake beneath the deep night sky.
Meanwhile inside the apartment—
Shinichi Kudo stood alone in the middle of his apartment studio, unable to look away from the finished painting standing before him.
The entire room smelled faintly of oil paint, charcoal dust, and dried varnish.
Used brushes were scattered carelessly across the floor beside crumpled sketches and failed studies he had thrown away weeks ago in frustration. Empty coffee cups remained abandoned near the window. Some of them still carried dark stains at the bottom from nights he never truly slept through.
The only light in the apartment came from the studio lamps above the canvas and the distant glow of Tokyo outside his windows.
And somehow—
After everything—
The painting still felt unreal to him.
Shinichi stared silently at the figure soaring through the night sky beneath the moonlight.
The white cape cutting through darkness.
The glider suspended weightlessly above the city.
The thief disappearing endlessly into the cold blue atmosphere like something that was never meant to be touched.
Perfect.
No—
Not perfect.
Perfect sounded artificial.
This painting was something else entirely.
Alive.
That was the only word Shinichi could think of whenever he looked at it.
Alive in a way none of his previous works had ever been.
The brushstrokes carried motion naturally across the canvas, pulling the eye upward toward the sky exactly the way Shinichi intended. Layers of transparent glazing created depth inside the moonlight while the colder tones surrounding the figure made the white clothing appear almost luminous against the dark atmosphere.
Even the composition itself felt strangely emotional.
Lonely.
Weightless.
Free.
And every single detail hurt to look at.
Because Shinichi remembered exactly how this painting was born.
The exhaustion.
The obsession.
The sleepless nights where he stood in front of the canvas until sunrise trying desperately to recreate the feeling he experienced that night.
That moment.
That impossible moment.
A thief crashing through his apartment window.
Wind exploding across the room.
The sudden rush of movement.
White fabric disappearing into the night sky.
Shinichi slowly lifted a hand to cover part of his face, exhaling shakily.
Even now, after an entire month, his chest still tightened painfully whenever he remembered it.
Not because he had been robbed.
Not because he lost money.
But because for the first time in months—
Maybe years—
He actually felt inspired again.
Truly inspired.
Not forced.
Not manufactured for professors or galleries or critics demanding another masterpiece from him.
Real inspiration.
Violent inspiration.
The kind that grabbed his lungs and refused to let him breathe until he created something from it.
And that terrified him a little.
Because now the painting was finished.
Which meant the feeling was disappearing again.
Shinichi stared at the canvas silently, his exhausted reflection faintly visible against the varnished surface.
He already knew exactly what would happen once this piece appeared at the exhibition.
People would stop in front of it immediately.
Critics would obsess over the symbolism.
Journalists would write dramatic articles analyzing the “loneliness of modern freedom” or whatever pretentious nonsense they came up with.
His professors would probably call it the greatest work he had ever created.
Collectors would fight to buy it.
Everyone would look at this painting and see genius.
But none of them would understand what it actually cost him.
None of them would understand how horrifying it felt to pour every remaining emotion inside himself into a single canvas.
And the worst part?
After this exhibition—
People would expect even more.
Always more.
Another masterpiece.
Another breakthrough.
Another impossible emotional work from “genius artist Kudo Shinichi.”
A tired laugh escaped his throat suddenly.
“Hah…”
Then another.
Softer this time.
Almost broken from exhaustion.
“Hahahah…”
Shinichi leaned heavily against the desk, fingers trembling slightly from fatigue while he laughed quietly to himself.
“What the hell am I supposed to do after this…?”
Because inspiration did not work the way people imagined.
It was ugly.
Painful.
Unpredictable.
Sometimes it came from heartbreak.
Sometimes from loneliness.
And apparently—
Sometimes it came from getting robbed by a flying criminal in the middle of the night.
His gaze slowly drifted back toward the painting again.
One entire month.
One month of ruined drafts, obsessive repainting, frustration-induced breakdowns, and nights where he genuinely thought he might collapse from exhaustion.
Normally, Shinichi could complete two or even three large-scale paintings in that amount of time.
But this one—
This one consumed him completely.
Every emotion.
Every thought.
Every ounce of energy he had left.
And now that it was finished—
His mind felt terrifyingly empty again.
Silent.
Cold.
Like the inspiration had burned through him completely before disappearing.
Even worse—
The painting still had no title.
Shinichi stared quietly at the glider soaring beneath the moonlight.
At the thief endlessly escaping into the sky.
And for reasons he still could not fully explain—
His chest ached with something dangerously close to longing.
“…I seriously wasted all my inspiration on a criminal.”
The words left Shinichi’s mouth in a quiet murmur, almost drowned out by the low hum of Tokyo beyond the apartment windows.
He let himself fall backward into the chair beside the canvas, exhaustion immediately sinking through his entire body. The old wooden frame creaked softly beneath his weight while his head tipped back against it.
For a long moment, Shinichi simply stared at the ceiling.
The studio was a complete mess.
Sketches littered the floor beside ruined canvases, empty coffee cups, and paint-stained cloth. The air smelled of turpentine and exhaustion after an entire month spent obsessively recreating one unforgettable moment.
Outside, Tokyo continued glowing beneath the night.
Inside the apartment—
everything felt strangely empty.
Then suddenly, a thought crossed his mind.
“…If that thief showed up again…”
His fingers tapped slowly against the chair.
“…I could probably paint another masterpiece.”
The words sounded ridiculous.
But his chest tightened immediately afterward.
Because it was true.
That impossible thief had awakened something inside him no gallery or professor ever could.
Real inspiration.
Dangerous inspiration.
Shinichi slowly lowered his hand from his face.
If the thief appeared again—
then Shinichi could see him again.
Another glimpse of white beneath the moonlight.
Another impossible moment balanced between danger and freedom.
His gaze snapped toward the finished painting standing beneath the studio lights.
The canvas suddenly no longer looked like an ending.
It looked like bait.
The exhibition would attract attention everywhere. News articles, social media posts, critics, collectors—
and eventually, the thief would see it too.
A slow excitement began building inside Shinichi’s chest.
If he hid a message somewhere in the exhibition…
Something subtle.
Something only the thief would understand—
then maybe he would come back.
Shinichi stood abruptly, his chair nearly falling backward.
“Wait…”
His heartbeat quickened.
“That could actually work.”
The exhaustion vanished from his face almost instantly, replaced by sharp excitement as ideas rapidly filled his mind.
The thief clearly liked valuable things.
Watches.
Cash.
Jewelry.
Expensive collectibles.
Which meant bait would absolutely work.
Shinichi stopped near the apartment windows, staring down at the city lights below.
He only needed to create something impossible for the thief to ignore.
Something dramatic enough to spread everywhere.
And hidden inside it—
a challenge.
A hidden invitation.
“…Alright then,” Shinichi muttered softly, a confident smirk finally appearing across his face.
“If I want him to return…”
His eyes shifted back toward the painting.
“Then I’ll make myself impossible to ignore.”