Retribution
I humbly accepted the fact that I'd been too complacent. Simply handing money to those in need wasn't the end of it. The state wouldn't just sit idly by and let profits from stolen goods circulate freely. In simple terms, even recipients of my money could end up punished in my place. Once I'd spotted the problem, I had to fix it. I had to undo every wrong. How? Coming up with an answer wasn't easy at all. Ordinary methods wouldn't cut it. So, there was no choice but to scale things up. From the orphanage rooftop, I watched the National Tax Service official saunter away.
[Aren't you going to chase them?]
"Yes."
Chasing them down and robbing the National Tax Service might be one way, but it wouldn't solve the root cause.
"I've got a better idea."
[That's delightful news.]
The Goddess whispered sweetly in my ear.
[Do whatever you like. I'll be right here watching over you, so go wild.]
I'd planned to anyway, even without her saying it. Without hesitation, I set off. Straight to the forger's underground lair, the same place I'd just visited.
"I said we'd meet again, but I didn't expect it to be this soon."
"Tell me about it."
I hadn't imagined facing this burdensome mummy again in less than a day. Still, I desperately needed his help right now. The core of my plan hinged on the 'fakes' he created.
"Alright, you petty phantom thief. What do you need this time?"
"A fake identity, please."
"Ho ho. Now that's interesting."
I'd agonized over it plenty. How could I truly solve this mess? Ordinary methods wouldn't work. I had no choice but to blow it up into something massive. Just stealing back the money the officials took wouldn't fix the source of the problem. It would only lead to the National Tax Service seizing the funds I donated again, repeating the cycle.
Of course, I planned to get revenge on those shameless thieves who dared steal from me.
But right now, this was more important. The root issue boiled down to me being Phantom Thief Raven. Money stolen by a thief couldn't become legitimate donations. The solution was simple: have someone who wasn't a thief make the donation.
"You do realize this is worlds apart from just painting a picture, right?"
"Of course. Name your price—I'll pay it."
"Good attitude."
The forger nodded in satisfaction.
"Tell me the personal details for this identity you're creating. The more specific, the better."
I began describing the image forming in my mind, piece by piece. As if crafting a real, breathing person, I detailed every minute aspect to build this fake identity.
He jotted down everything without missing a beat, then asked at the end,
"So, what's this gentleman's name?"
"Lupin. Arsene Lupin."
I'd already mapped out the full plan in my head. Using this new identity for Lupin, I'd establish an anonymous foundation. It would be suspiciously wealthy, providing free aid to the needy across Britannia. No one would trace the funding source. The Witch's Shop never leaked client information.
"A fine name. Come back in three days."
"Got it."
"This one's going to cost you dearly. Steel yourself."
I chuckled and replied,
"Worried about money with a phantom thief?"
"That's exactly why I'm worried."
"Haha. Fair point, now that you mention it."
We exchanged light farewells, and I headed off to the next phase of my plan.
"Whatever it is, good luck."
"Thanks. See you next time."
Now it was time to reclaim my stolen money. Time to make them regret whose pockets they'd picked.
I'd always placed great importance on romance. If I'd focused solely on the theft, I wouldn't have been so inefficient. Sticking to eye-catching outfits, sending advance notices, and flaunting the name Raven—all to fulfill the phantom thief fantasy.
The Goddess wanted it that way, and I'd embraced it gladly.
But this time was different. I wasn't stealing as a phantom thief. I was just the rightful owner reclaiming my money from the thieves who'd taken it.
And deep down, I was curious. What would happen if I ditched the romance and went all out for real?
Raiding a national government agency like the National Tax Service wouldn't be easy. If I'd stuck to my usual romantic flair, it would've been outright impossible.
"Here we are."
[Indeed.]
I'd arrived at the National Tax Service building. The highest-class target I'd ever hit. In simple terms, all the money in Britannia flowed through here. One of the world's richest institutions, no exaggeration.
My money was inside there. No need to hesitate. Let's get started.
Deep into the night. A man in an official uniform chatted idly with a colleague.
"That old geezer had that much money?"
"Yeah. Apparently all from that phantom thief."
"And you recovered it all?"
To his colleague's question, the man grinned sleazily.
"He claims he handed it all over, but who's to say he isn't hiding more? We don't even know how much the thief gave him."
"Tsk tsk. The old man's totally screwed. Drawing a guy like you as his auditor? He'll be stripped down to his underwear."
The words seemed to pity the orphanage director, but the tone dripped more with mockery than concern. In the end, both men were cut from the same cloth.
"Hey now, don't misunderstand. I'm just diligently serving the nation, pocketing a little 'service fee' as a bonus."
"Britannia's hero has arrived."
He brazenly declared his corruption without a shred of guilt. If anything, he smirked as he spouted absurd excuses.
"The old coot took the phantom thief's money—that makes him a criminal too."
"Haha! You're right."
"A decent, upstanding citizen would've reported it and turned it over to the state. Otherwise, it's reasonable to assume he's a phantom thief follower, no?"
"Better a follower than having some direct connection to the thief."
Ignoring why the director had no choice but to accept the money, they twisted the outcome to suit their convenience.
"So, all the cash is in the vault now?"
"Yeah. Couldn't skim from the first batch he coughed up. So I paid another visit today, but no matter how much I threatened, the old man wouldn't budge—claims he's really broke."
"You gotta go harder then. You've always been too soft-hearted. Heh heh."
Their endless banter finally wound down. The man glanced at his watch and startled.
"Oh crap, time... I'm late for the shift change."
"Jeez, already five minutes past."
Five minutes late wouldn't cause any real trouble, but he scrambled to tidy up and stand.
"Hold the fort—I'll grab some late-night snacks on the way back."
"You got it."
The man left the break room to guard the vault. As he walked the long corridor, a faint unease crept in.
Why's it so quiet tonight?
Of course, a noisy night would be weirder, but still, the silence felt unnaturally heavy today. In the profound quiet, only his footsteps and heartbeat echoed, sending chills down his spine.
He shook his head vigorously, forcing away the ominous thoughts.
No. It's nothing.
Better hurry. There'd be two of them guarding the vault—much safer.
He quickened his pace down the corridor, then slowly came to a halt.
Something was wrong. No one stood before the vault door—not his shift partner, nor the previous guards.
That wasn't all. Far worse: the vault room door, which should never be open, stood wide.
"......"
This wasn't normal. The proper response was to sound the emergency alarm and call security.
But that would pin the blame on him for being late to shift.
So, ignoring his instincts' screams, he crept forward slowly. Praying it was nothing, just a minor mishap.
And finally, he beheld the scene inside the vault room.
A black-clad gentleman sat in a chair, gazing his way.
"...Phantom Thief Raven."
"You're quite late. I've committed your face to memory."
The phantom thief rose slowly from his seat and said,
"I've come to take back my money."