Cards and Cards
"Fuuuum!"
As townsfolk began to trickle out into the streets, Chero stretched with a loud yawn and rose to his feet.
He blinked dazedly at the morning streets for a moment, then pushed himself up with a groan.
"Ugh, that was some nasty liquor yesterday! I hate strong spirits!"
…Says the guy who poured it down his own throat.
'What a clown.'
I watched from the corner of the alley, hidden in shadow.
Chero swayed like a man with a splitting hangover, stretching his limbs one by one.
Gulp.
Following my instructions, Thomson was pretending to be a street sweeper, quietly brushing the dust as he eyed his mark.
He wasn't looking for a chance to pickpocket—
he was looking for the perfect moment to pocket-drop.
…But why the hell does he look so nervous?
Logically speaking, slipping something into someone's pocket should be easier than stealing out of it.
It's the easy job—and yet he's trembling like he's about to commit murder.
I mouthed silently at him from the alley.
"Oi, just do it like you always do!"
His lips moved in return.
"I've never done this before, sir! My hands are shaking!"
"..."
…Fair point.
Back-alley thugs like him were used to cracking skulls and robbing bodies—
not giving things to people.
Still, the mechanics were the same.
Step one: Distract the target.
"Khmm."
Thomson finished sweeping a patch of dirt and began strolling straight toward Chero.
The instant the two lined up on the same path—
"Whoops!"
Thomson tripped himself with his broom, colliding into Chero, and the two went crashing to the ground together.
"Gah! What's your problem?!"
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, sir! Haven't had breakfast yet—my legs gave out!"
The two lay sprawled out in the street.
I had to admire it.
'Damn, that was smooth.'
The move was so clean and natural that anyone watching would think it was a genuine accident.
Chero just gawked, tangled up with Thomson—
and that was when step two came into play.
Step two: Do it fast.
Thomson's hand moved like lightning—
no, like a snake.
"Oh dear, are you all right, sir?"
As he spoke, he deftly slipped the pre-palmed object into Chero's coat pocket.
A single silver coin.
Nothing more, nothing less.
The one thing Chero hated most in the world.
Perfectly executed.
Chero, unaware, was shouting hoarsely.
"Ugh! Just my luck! What's wrong with you, drunk street sweepers!"
…Drunk? You're the one who's still pickled in booze.
"My deepest apologies, sir!"
Having completed his first pocket-drop, Thomson scrambled away down another alley—
off to change disguises for the next round.
"Hrngh."
I turned my eyes back to Chero as he trudged off, grumbling.
He scratched his nose, sneezed violently—then reached into his coat pocket.
And froze.
"...?"
His hand slowly came back out.
He'd just noticed something that wasn't supposed to be there.
The instant his eyes fell on the coin—
"Uwaagh! What the hell is THIS?!"
He shrieked and flung the silver to the ground.
"Why is this filthy chunk of silver in my pocket?!"
He shook his hands wildly as if they'd been defiled, then rubbed them furiously against his pants.
Exactly as expected.
I couldn't help but grin.
'Good. It still works the same way.'
Chero had an irrational, almost pathological hatred of silver coins.
No one really knew why.
Digging deep into the original lore, there were hints—
'Some say he's got vampire blood in him.'
But it was never confirmed.
Not even the original game ever revealed the truth.
"Ugh, how much did I drink yesterday? Did I actually take silver as change?"
He concluded that he must've accepted it while drunk the night before.
A reasonable assumption.
'No one would imagine they've been pocket-stuffed instead of pickpocketed.'
But what if it keeps happening?
All day long?
What if the thing you despise most keeps appearing in your pocket again and again?
'He'll lose his mind.'
And that's exactly what I wanted.
That was the perfect strategy for the quest "Card-Cheater Chero."
Drive him halfway insane.
Then something wonderful happens.
"Heh… heheheh…"
"My lord, why are you laughing like a villain?"
"Gah! Don't sneak up on me like that."
Thomson was already behind me, freshly disguised and ready for round two.
A professional indeed.
While Thomson tormented Chero from the shadows,
I was the one in real danger.
"Hey, you. Come here."
A pair of city guards waved me over.
'Ah, hell. Here we go again.'
A random inspection.
With the city's security tightened, it was nearly impossible to avoid them entirely.
And since I had to tail Chero's route, I couldn't just detour around the patrols.
Still, this was manageable.
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen, sir!"
"With that face?"
"...Yes, sir."
"Tch. Suspicious. Let's see your ID."
"Here you go!"
Thankfully, I had my forged ID—courtesy of the Eolem Church.
"Shan Alledro, huh? Hm. Don't recognize the name… though you look a bit like this wanted poster."
The guard tilted his head, scrutinizing me.
Time to deploy some verbal skill.
"Aw, come on! You're saying I look like that guy? That's insulting! And it's no wonder you've never seen me before!"
"Oh? Why's that?"
"Because I'm actually from Erahhrt, sir! Just moved here after getting hired by the Eolem Church as a courier. Hehe."
"Ah…"
Combining bits of information and spinning them into a believable lie—
that was all there was to it.
"Hm. So that's why this ID bears the Archbishop's seal. Very well, you may go."
[You have deceived a low-ranking city guard!]
'Success.'
That was how deception against NPCs worked.
When combined with Gilroshan's only real advantage—his unusually high Charm stat—
fooling lower-tier guards was child's play.
After sending the guard on his way, I gave a subtle signal toward the opposite alley.
'I'm good. Keep going.'
'Understood, sir!'
Thomson, still hidden, nodded once and vanished from sight.
…This was starting to feel like a spy movie.
Thomson kept using different disguises and situations to slip silver coins into Chero's belongings.
Once, he appeared as a butcher demanding payment for meat and scuffled with Chero in the street.
Another time, dressed as a polite old gentleman, he said,
"Young man, I think you dropped your watch,"
and slipped a coin smoothly into Chero's coat pocket before disappearing.
And then—
"Thief! Stop that thief!"
"Waaah! Out of my way!"
…He even went so far as to steal something from a shop, get chased, and "accidentally" collide with Chero.
That one was clearly for personal amusement.
Still, thanks to all this, Chero's pockets kept filling with coins.
"Pffft! Cough, cough!"
While eating noodles at a diner, Chero suddenly gagged and spat out his food.
"Gaaah! Another silver coin?!"
He must've reached into his pocket for a handkerchief—only to find that instead.
"What's going on?! Why do these keep appearing?! It's filthy! Filthy, I tell you!"
Screaming, he flung the coin away.
A nearby street urchin darted out, snatched it up, and ran off.
I watched with a faint smile.
'Almost there.'
By now, even the beggars knew to wait nearby, expecting him to throw more silver.
Chero was teetering on the edge of madness.
'All right. One last time.'
I gave a small nod to Thomson, now disguised as an ordinary townsman.
He nodded back resolutely.
"Achoo!"
As he passed Chero, he let out a loud sneeze—
and in that instant, a glint of silver arced gracefully through the air.
The coin traced a perfect parabola and landed softly somewhere unseen.
"...!"
Chero, slurping his noodles and grumbling, froze mid-bite.
"Mmff! Mmmfff!"
He suddenly threw his hands up, clawing at his neck in a frenzy.
"Gaaaah! Silver! It's on me! Get it off meee!"
Clear broth and raw panic splashed across the table as he flipped everything over in chaos.
"What the—?"
"What's wrong with that guy?"
"I dunno, sir."
Thomson stood among the bewildered customers, his expression stoic and professional.
He mouthed silently toward me—
'Did I do well?'
'Perfect. That was the spot.'
The final coin drop had landed precisely between Chero's collar and nape,
tucked neatly where his shirt met his skin.
"Yaaagh! Get it off! Get it ooooff!"
He flailed wildly.
And the moment his fingers brushed the coin—
"A curse! It's cursed! The silver is cursed!"
He hurled it across the room, then screamed again.
"Where's the rest?! I know there's more! Come out! All of you, come out!"
He tore through his pockets, shaking them violently.
One bizarre trinket after another spilled onto the floor.
I watched the absurd sight with quiet satisfaction.
'That's it.'
Forcing Chero to unknowingly carry the silver he despised—
that was the activation condition for this hidden piece.
And Thomson had fulfilled it flawlessly.
If I'd drawn a thief-class card and unlocked Steal, I could've done it myself.
But for now, his help was indispensable.
I mouthed a silent praise toward him.
'Excellent work. I'll make sure your luck turns around.'
'Eh? You mean… I should jump for joy now?'
'Forget it, idiot.'
Crash!
"Where is it?! Where's the rest of the silver?! Aaagh!"
In the middle of Chero's manic outburst—
Glint.
Something familiar rolled out from his overturned pocket.
A card.
A Destiny Card, gleaming in radiant, rainbow light—
that grade.
'Now.'
Step by step, I moved forward.
While Chero raved and rummaged through his belongings,
I reached behind him and grabbed the card.
Information flashed before my eyes—
tempting, dazzling.
And dangerous.
[Destiny Card][EX Grade]
Contains the destiny of a detective who believes "the culprit always returns to the scene."
Bound Skill: Unknown
'My second transcendence-grade card.'
Still not even level 10, and I'd already seen two of these rare ones.
Yet this time, I felt no excitement.
Because I knew exactly what it was.
This wasn't a reward—
it was a trap.
'If I absorb this, I'll blow myself up.'
So, while Chero's pocket event was indeed a hidden piece,
it was also… not.
A "don't touch" hidden piece.
One that punished players for acting on instinct.
I tapped Chero's shoulder.
"...?"
"You dropped this, old man."
Just like the old fairy tale—
the Honest Woodcutter test.
"Hmmm."
Chero stopped rummaging and turned toward me, his eyes glinting with madness.
"So… you're saying this isn't your card? Really?"