[Mary Morstan seems to have a slight fondness for you.]
Blending into the London night, Russell was on the run when, suddenly, he heard a system notification—and nearly toppled into the Thames River.
"What the hell?" The thief's surprised and bewildered voice was carried away by the wind. "Why is she being made to admire that? Is she really a psychopath?" Russell decided to forget about it and check tonight's gains instead.
With that thought, he opened his system panel.
Name: Russell Watson
[Reputation: Somewhat Notorious (Malice Gain +10%)]
[Occupation: Gentleman Thief]
[Skills: Stealth (C+), Climbing (C), Practical Combat (C+), Scouting (C), Listening (C)]
[Note: Some attributes are available for upgrade]
[Malice Points: 1630]
[Recent Action Summary:]
[You provoked Mary Morstan repeatedly, danced on her minefield – Malice +780.]
"That felt great," Russell sighed.
The Malice I gained tonight is basically equivalent to my monthly income. As it should be. If everyone shared a little hate, maybe there'd be more hope in our lives.
With enough points accumulated, it was time to upgrade attributes.
Russell's gaze fell on the attribute panel, filled with many skills yet to be unlocked—like Combat, among others. These could be unlocked through training or spending Malice points. Unlocking any skill cost 200 Malice at first. All skills started at level D and required additional Malice to upgrade.
Of course, an un-unlocked skill didn't mean he was utterly incapable. For example, not unlocking [Combat] didn't mean Russell would become a punching bag unable to fight back. At worst, he'd just fight with wild, reckless swings in a real fight.
When you acquire the [Combat] skill, you actually know when to strike and when to dodge.
Currently, he had over 1000 Malice Points—enough to unlock at least five skills. But most skills felt superfluous—a long list masking just a handful of useful abilities.
Staring at this dizzying array, Russell sensibly focused on the practical ones.
Close-quarters combat, stealth, and investigation could wait; with his current levels, he could manage most situations already. Sure, upgrading skills might let him filch insurance documents just a bit faster, but against average citizens—or even nobles—his current skill level never took more than a minute. Unless he was breaking into a bank vault, he didn't need top-tier security skills.
So, Russell began allocating Malice. A sequence of notification chimes followed as knowledge poured into his brain. The sensation was strange—almost like sudden enlightenment—jarringly sudden, as if both his brain and body simply knew what to do next.
Who on earth came up with this system?
[Skill: Combat—Unlocked. Current Level: D, Malice -200]
[Skill: Combat D—Upgraded. Level: D+, Malice -100]
[Skill: Combat D+—Upgraded. Level: C, Malice -200]
[Skill: Stealth C+—Upgraded. Level: C++, Malice -600]
[Skill: Scouting C—Upgraded. Level: C+, Malice -300]
[Remaining Balance: 230]
Back to square one again. Watching the Malice points dwindle, Russell felt a pang of regret. He couldn't just waste what was left—he'd have to save for magic tools from the system shop. That [Mist Array] sure was handy. Without it, he wouldn't have made it home unscathed—or even managed a free gain.
Climbing rooftops, Russell mentally rated the [Mist Array] a perfect five stars. But then he thought about the hundreds of Malice points he'd spent and paused for thought. Upgrading skills felt a lot like joining a gym: at first, you brimmed with ambition, believing you're about to become Superman overnight. But after spending all your money, nothing seems to change immediately—except your empty wallet.
Straight punches, hooks, side kicks, grappling, and joint locks—all these martial techniques were now hammered into his brain.
There was plenty of theory, but who knew how well it would actually work? He certainly couldn't go back to practicing on Mary Morstan.
Just thinking about that scene made Russell shudder involuntarily. Well, I'm a gentleman—I won't stoop to her level. Besides, she's truly ruthless. She dared to stab someone's kidney this time—he shuddered to imagine what might come next.
Lost in thought, he soon recognized the familiar outlines of Baker Street.
Night at 221B Baker Street was quiet and peaceful—a world away from the noisy Morstan House a few blocks away.
Russell slipped back in through the window, every movement practiced, as if he'd done this hundreds or thousands of times before. He shed his thief's clothes for pajamas, collapsed into bed, and felt as though every bone in his body had shattered. Tonight's physical and mental exhaustion was overwhelming—worse than eight consecutive advanced mathematics classes.
He was almost asleep when, from the next room, the torturous sound of violin music started up again. The same as always: completely out of tune, like someone scratching their nails down a chalkboard.
Russell buried his head in his pillow to block the noise. Obviously useless.
"What time is it, Sis…?" he groaned weakly.
The great detective's case seemed not to be progressing at all.
Like a pancake on a griddle, Russell rolled around in bed for minutes before finally accepting defeat and getting up.
Sleep was impossible. He slipped on his slippers, poured himself a fresh glass of warm milk, and knocked next door.
The door opened immediately.
Charlotte Holmes stood in a deep blue silk robe, violin and bow in hand. Her slightly wavy black hair was tousled, her gray-blue eyes bloodshot, but her gaze was still razor sharp.
She saw Russell at the door and frowned slightly.
"What's wrong?"
"As your neighbor," Russell said seriously, waving his mug of hot milk, "I feel duty-bound to remind you that it's 2AM, and any decent, morally upright London citizen should be in bed right now, rather than torturing a neighbor—one who needs to go to school tomorrow—with an expensive violin."
Charlotte glanced at him, moved aside to let him in, then strode back to the middle of the room and tossed her violin onto the couch.
"Evidently, I'm in a rather difficult situation," she said curtly.
…