221B Baker Street.
After a long day, Russell—Master Russell, as he liked to call himself—returned to his small flat. He swapped out his gentleman-thief kit for ordinary loungewear and collapsed onto the bed.
Before sleeping, he opened the system panel to review his current status.
[Name: Russell Watson]
[Reputation: Somewhat Notable (Malice gain +10%)]
[Occupation: Gentleman Thief]
[Skills: Stealth (C+), Climbing (C), Sleight of Hand (C+), Reconnaissance (C), Listening (C)]
[Notice: Upgradeable attributes available]
[Malice Balance: 850]
[Recent Action Earnings:
You successfully made Mary Morstan feel provoked — +100]
"Not bad. At least it wasn't a complete loss," Russell muttered with satisfaction, closing his eyes—entirely unbothered by the fact that tonight's net gain was actually zero.
Once tomorrow's papers ran the story, or once Miss Morstan reported to Scotland Yard, the malice would start flowing in steadily.
Most of the time, the victim's own malice was merely the appetizer.
Russell's real premium client was Scotland Yard.
He had been farming them for points for quite a while.
He lifted tonight's only "loot" above his face, examining it under the bedside lamp.
A pure-gold brooch set with a sapphire. One glance was enough to tell it was expensive—absurdly so.
Something that small could probably buy his life three times over.
Capitalism truly was a sin.
He would find a chance tomorrow night to return it—while also harvesting another round of malice.
Besides, even if he wanted to cash it out, who would dare buy it?
Since Miss Morstan already felt challenged, he might as well commit to the role of villain to the end.
Russell almost always returned what he stole.
On one hand, he had no reliable channels to turn high-end valuables into clean money.
On the other hand, returning them often generated a second surge of malice.
A man couldn't be so money-minded he stopped caring about malice points.
With tomorrow's plan settled, Russell yawned.
A dreamless night.
·
·
The next day, at first light, Russell rose early. After washing up, he went downstairs to clock in to his daily routine.
He crept up behind the figure busy in the kitchen and gave her a light tap.
"Morning, Mrs. Hudson."
"Ah!" Mrs. Hudson jolted, then turned with a look that was equal parts helpless and annoyed.
"Russell. You scared me again."
"Just saying hello," Russell said with a grin, pulling out a chair at the table and sitting down.
[You startled Mrs. Hudson — Malice +10]
"What's for breakfast?"
"What else? The eggs and toast you never get tired of."
Mrs. Hudson shot him a scolding glance, then briskly placed a steaming plate in front of him—kindly adding two extra sausages.
"Eat quickly. Isn't it your university's opening ceremony today? Don't be late."
"Mrs. Hudson, you're basically my second mother," Russell declared dramatically, pressing his palms together before picking up his knife and fork.
"Smooth talker," she laughed, turning away to polish her beloved silverware. Still, she couldn't stop herself from continuing:
"Oh, and a letter arrived yesterday. The empty room next to yours has finally been rented out. We're getting a new neighbor, Russell."
"A new neighbor?" Russell raised an eyebrow.
Could it be Charlotte Holmes?
"A girl about your age," Mrs. Hudson said. "Seems she's also a freshman at Imperial College. You might run into her at school."
"And you will take good care of her, understood?"
As she spoke, she poured more milk into his cup.
"And don't start with your pranks the moment she moves in."
"Relax, Mrs. Hudson. I'm famously a gentleman," Russell said lightly.
A girl. And a classmate. That basically ruled out Charlotte Holmes.
"You? A gentleman?" Mrs. Hudson clearly didn't believe it. But looking at his handsome face, she let it go with a weary shake of her head.
"One more thing—her brother seems to be someone important. Don't go making trouble."
"Understood, understood," Russell said, half-listening as he finished his breakfast at speed.
He said goodbye to Mrs. Hudson and slipped into Imperial College's opening ceremony hall at the last possible moment.
The grand auditorium was packed. He hunched his shoulders and smoothly slid into the back row, settling into an inconspicuous corner—fully intending to sleep through the event.
The principal's speech was just as long and boring as expected. Russell's eyelids started to droop.
To keep himself awake, he shifted his attention to a more pressing matter—namely why malice from Scotland Yard still hadn't arrived.
Lestrade, do you not hate me anymore?
Have you forgotten everything we've been through?
As Russell drifted in his thoughts, he suddenly noticed that the girl walking onto the stage to deliver the freshman representative address looked… familiar.
Silver-white hair. Blue eyes.
She looked exactly like the girl he'd met last night in the Morstan house.
Talk about coincidence.
"My name is Mary Morstan," the girl announced. "It is my honor to stand here as the freshman representative and deliver this speech."
That voice—cool, clear, faintly distant—was the same as last night's.
And, apparently, so was the name.
Wait.
Russell's head snapped up. His gaze cut through the sea of people, locking precisely onto the figure at the podium.
Her silver hair flowed like moonlight, catching the chandeliers' glow. She wore the official freshman uniform, neat and perfectly fitted, the hem falling just above the knee—accentuating a slender, upright posture.
Damn it—it's really you.
Shouldn't you be at home waiting for Scotland Yard to show up and take your statement?
Why are you here giving a speech?
On stage, Mary Morstan finished and inclined her head. Her eyes—clear, detached, like thin ice on a winter lake—swept calmly over the audience.
They passed faces full of admiration, curiosity, awe…
…and then, without warning, they stopped on the back-row corner.
On him.
For an instant, Russell's curiosity and confusion met her gaze midair.
Across the distance, they held each other's eyes—just long enough for Russell to feel as if he'd been nailed to the spot.
But Mary's gaze lingered less than a second before it moved on naturally. She turned and stepped down from the stage.
Russell released a breath and blamed the momentary jolt of panic on the normal physiology of guilt.
After Mary's velvet-smooth voice ended the student portion, the ceremony returned to the principal's grinding, monotonous remarks.
But Russell had no intention of staying.
He wanted out.
With Stealth (C+), as long as he didn't make any obvious commotion, he could slip away unnoticed.
So he did.
He observed the surroundings, then began inching toward the rear exit—slowly, carefully, one subtle shift at a time.
That place…
As long as he reached that place…
However—when he was one step away from the back door, the open doorway suddenly filled with a new figure.
The exit was occupied.
No vacancy.
-------
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