Not a Bad Thief
A hush fell over the room at Sharon's blunt remark. Of course, I understood what she meant. Honestly, I thought it was just a coincidence too. But outright contradicting the nun's deeply considered conclusion made the whole picture feel off. She was free to think whatever she wanted, but voicing it was another matter.
"Yes, it could be. It's probably just a coincidence, after all."
Theresia nodded more readily than expected, accepting it graciously. It could have hurt her feelings, but she let it slide with kindness. Sharon, realizing belatedly that she'd gone too far, looked flustered and bowed her head.
"Sorry."
"No, it's fine. That's the normal reaction, after all."
A smile tinged with complex emotions. The nun must have wrestled with this a lot herself. As someone directly involved, her inner conflict was likely far deeper than Yulia's.
"So, Sister, do you think Raven is a good person?"
"Well... He's definitely not like an ordinary thief. If he stole just for money, there'd be no reason to give it away."
It was a logical argument, hard to refute. Common sense dictated that if his only goal was cash, he wouldn't bother with all that extra effort.
They'd never guess it's because of the Goddess's request.
"They know not the splendor of the phantom thief. Truly pitiful souls."
"......"
Sharon fell silent after the nun's response, lost in deep thought. I'd run through all my prepared questions. With enough info gathered, it was time to wrap up.
"Thank you so much for the interview today."
"No, thank you for listening. I appreciate it more."
"Would it be okay to publish the contents?"
"Yes. But could you do me one favor in return?"
I nodded readily.
"Of course. As long as it's within reason."
"When you use my interview, please tell people about the illness that afflicted the child. Let them know how dangerous and painful it is, and how much help we need from others."
I could see where Yulia got her angelic nature. Even in a moment like this, worrying about others first. What an incredible person.
"Take care on your way back."
"Yes. Rest well, Sister."
We finished the interview and stepped out of the old church. Sharon had been spaced out, deep in thought, since earlier. She probably wouldn't respond much if I tried talking, so I just walked quietly beside her.
"What do you think?"
"Huh?"
The sudden question startled me. I turned to Sharon. Wasn't this the first time she'd initiated a conversation with me?
"About what?"
"Do you think Raven is good too?"
"Ah, that. Yeah, the last part of the interview must've stuck with you."
How should I answer this? As Phantom Thief Raven myself, staying objective was nearly impossible. Maybe honesty was the best policy.
"Like the Sister said, he could be okay."
"Even if it wasn't some divine answer and just pure coincidence?"
"That doesn't matter."
I waved my fingers dismissively as I spoke.
"A phantom thief leaves money just in time to treat a sick kid. Even if it's a wild coincidence, the fact remains—he left the money at the church."
"Well..."
"Separate from the kid's treatment, he still did a good deed."
In the original story, she was a good person, so I figured she'd use the money wisely. I never imagined it'd play out this perfectly. But a good deed was a good deed.
"But he stole something that belonged to someone else. That's wrong."
"True. That's wrong."
It was the inherent flaw of being a phantom thief. No matter how you spun it or vilified the original owner, stealing property was still a crime.
"I don't think everything can be divided into black and white. Where there's good, there's bad. And everyone judges it differently. To some, Raven might be a bad thief. To others, a grateful benefactor."
In other words, Phantom Thief Raven existed in that ambiguous gray zone between.
Sharon listened to all my thoughts, then hung her head, staring at the ground. Soon, her quiet voice followed.
"Still... I can't accept it."
"What weighs so heavily on thy mind?"
After the interview, I returned home and began my activities as Phantom Thief Raven. Atop the clock tower—now practically my dedicated perch—I overlooked the full panorama of London, capital of the Britannia Empire.
"Sharon really seemed to hate Raven, didn't she?"
"Worried about such trifles? Didst thou not thyself declare it natural for ordinary folk to despise a phantom thief?"
Right. I'd said that. But Sharon's attitude felt different from the usual. It went beyond the typical "he's a criminal, so I hate him."
"It felt like hatred."
Hatred was emotional, not rational. Like she had a personal grudge, relentlessly pursuing and refusing to see anything but villainy.
"Doth that grieve thee?"
"Not that bad. Just bugs me a little?"
"As thou saidst, folk think differently. 'Tis no surprise if one child hateth thee."
"Sure, but still."
"Then why not show them thyself?"
"Show what?"
"That thou art no villain. That thou art a singular thief, unlike the rest."
An intriguing phrasing. A "not bad" thief? Did such a thing even exist? Still, the Goddess's idea sounded promising. The more my exploits spread, the more people would puzzle and stir in confusion. A bizarre thief who shunned gold, unlike common crooks. Phantom Thief Raven's fame would soon blanket the continent, setting it abuzz. This was just the beginning. Soon, everyone would know the name.
"Time to get started."
I rose from the railing, fixing my gaze on the target: a private art gallery run by a greedy tycoon. The prize? Lighthouse on Stormy Night. Tonight, just the calling card. Oh, and grab the replica I'd ordered on the way.
Descending the clock tower, I headed to the gallery. Compared to the National Museum, security was laughably lax. I slipped in without even using magic.
The calling card could go anywhere, really—it'd be found, read, and buzz across town by morning. Still, maximum visibility was ideal. Call it showmanship, performance art. To embody the phantom thief's flair, every detail mattered. Artisan spirit, indeed.
"Where dost thou plan to place it?"
Right there.
"Oh ho. That shall be amusing."
If I pulled it off, the card alone would spark a frenzy. Not easy, though. Even lax security had Mana Detection Sensors inside.
If only I could disable those...
They were the biggest headache when planning tricks. Without them, I could unleash flashy, varied illusions.
"Ask that Witch, no?"
Even so, asking her for something like that... She might have it.
Considering her miraculous business savvy in the original story, probably. I'd have to check her shop later when I had time.
For now, no magic—I placed the card manually. My target: a statue reaching toward the sky. Specifically, tucking the card into its hand. For that one flourish, I was clinging to the ceiling, Spider-Man style.
Ugh... What fresh hell is this!
"Art demandeth suffering, 'tis ever thus."
If you're not helping, stay quiet!
"Hmph. Complaints despite my cheers? Disappointing."
Why the sudden tsundere mode? Ignoring her chatter, I crawled across the ceiling. At least no one looks up unless you make noise. And at this late hour, no visitors—just a few guards patrolling.
Phew! Nailed it!
Safely planting the card in the statue's hand, I slipped out of the gallery leisurely.
"Ow, my back."
"Tsk. The back is a man's lifeblood. Cherish it well, for thou shalt soon manage many wives."
"Quiet, please."