Riddle of the Notice and Unexpected Recognition
Hiding my embarrassment, I calmly asked, "You know me?"
"Just read the name on your badge."
"Ah."
So that's what it was? The utterly mundane truth left me deflated.
[You're such an idiot.]
Before I could retort to the Goddess's teasing, the guy continued.
"But the name feels kinda familiar."
Now what? He kept stringing me along.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment, then grinned ominously and muttered to himself.
"Right. I remember now. You're that phantom thief fanatic, aren't you?"
"...Phantom thief fanatic?"
The unexpected label threw me for a loop.
"The lunatic who openly defended the thief during announcements. I knew the name but not the face, so I was curious. That was you?"
His follow-up cleared things up. So that's how the rumor got twisted.
I'd thought I'd handled it well, but apparently a few people took it the wrong way.
Of course, it wasn't true. I wasn't a phantom thief follower—I was the phantom thief.
I waved my hands to correct the misunderstanding and opened my mouth. "No, that's not—"
"Whatever. I don't really care."
Hah. Look at this guy. He brushes off my words like they're nothing and dismisses me outright.
No wonder he's the original story's top jerk. I was genuinely relieved we weren't in the same class.
In the original, he mostly crossed paths with the protagonist through clubs at first.
No matter what, I had to avoid joining any club the protagonist—or this guy—was in.
Better get out before things got more exhausting. Skipping class was definitely a bad idea.
As I slipped out of the bathroom, his voice called from behind.
"See you next time."
What kind of creepy line was that? Even as a joke, spare me the horror.
Maybe I was overreacting. Setting aside his attitude, he was a supporting ally for the protagonist in the original.
But who cared? Getting close would only make things harder.
Rachel already annoyed me enough as it was—this guy would make even that seem cute.
Anyone but him. Absolutely not.
At least it woke me right up. Goosebumps were still prickling my arms.
Maybe because we met in such an unexpected place.
Back in class, the lesson was still droning on. My desk mate Rachel Scarlet was sprawled on her desk, sleeping openly just like before.
She was something else. So steadfast in her ways.
With sleep fully chased away, I spent the rest of class staring blankly, pondering how to deliver the notice letter tucked safely in my pocket.
I could just leave it at the casino, no big deal. But something about that felt unsatisfying.
This riddle, crafted through an all-nighter of meticulous work. I'd even hidden which casino it pointed to like a cipher.
Dropping it straight there would basically scream, "This is the target!"
[Then how about leaving it at a different casino on purpose?]
"Hm..."
I'd considered that, but planting it elsewhere would lead whoever found it to assume that casino was the answer and waste time solving the riddle.
Sending a notice was harder than writing one. Maybe next time I'd skip the cipher for simplicity.
Lost in thought, ignoring the lesson, a brilliant idea suddenly hit me—one that made my eyes widen.
The perfect method was...
"So, this was stuffed in the mailbox?"
"Yes..."
Gadget rubbed her temples with a sigh. Lately, she felt herself aging rapidly.
Too much stress, probably.
And the root of it all? The owner of the card she held—the Phantom Thief Raven.
No doubt it was from him. The signature "Phantom Thief Raven" at the bottom, as always, and the card matched the ones he used perfectly.
Impersonation wasn't impossible, but the odds were slim.
Who else had the guts to boldly slip a notice into Britannia Police Headquarters' mailbox?
To him, this was all just a fun game.
'I'll catch you for sure...'
Grinding her teeth, Gadget reaffirmed her resolve and reread the notice carefully.
The author was definitely Raven. The problem? Unlike before, it wasn't straightforward.
Downright cryptic. Like a riddle—or even a poem—packed with metaphors and symbols.
Understanding the words was easy enough. But deciphering what he planned to steal? Impossible.
Gadget squinted at the card.
"...A poet?"
The thought crossed her mind seriously; the more she mulled it, the more its polished artistry shone.
Maybe the phantom thief was some failed artist's twisted hobby.
Filing away the absurd notion, the detective pressed on with her reasoning.
But it was tough. Too many interpretations—exaggerate anything, and it fit.
She didn't give up easily. Or rather, she couldn't.
If pure deduction failed, lean on universal patterns.
Phantom thief notices always included four elements: date, place, item, name.
No matter how cryptic, those never went missing.
The name was plain as day at the bottom, so skip that.
Left with date, place, item.
Item could wait. Nail date and place, then blanket the area with investigators.
Date wasn't critical either—not a year-out crime, so stake out the spot indefinitely.
That left place. Crack that, and they could stop him.
"......"
Gadget's reasoning stalled there. Nothing gained.
She couldn't do it alone. Needed help.
First face that came to mind: the detective girl deepest in phantom thief cases—Sherlock.
She might crack it.
But Gadget shook her head, dismissing the idea.
Skill aside, untrustworthy. Not just her shady mage vibes—identity, origins, motives, goals: all mysteries.
Mind-boggling she'd cooperated this long.
Come to think of it, she'd assigned a background check last time too. Buried under work, she'd forgotten.
As she pondered, a knock echoed, followed by a voice.
"Detective Gadget? May I come in?"
"Yes. Enter."
The man entering wore a uniform like a regular cop's, but distinct.
Gadget's brow furrowed slightly—not welcoming.
"What is it?"
"I heard. He sent another notice."
"...Tch."
She'd clamped down on leaks, but word got out anyway. Pointless.
"No need for you to bother anymore. The Executioners will handle the phantom thief capture from here."
"...I know."
He extended a hand confidently. "The notice—where is it?"
"Take it."
Fine. Maybe for the best, if he solved it.
The man took it and read. Time dragged; his eyes stayed glued, face darkening.
Gadget watched, smirking unwittingly.
"...What is this?"
"The notice. Can't read it?"
"......"
She snorted at the silenced Executioner. His face flushed—pride stung—he replied curtly.
"I'll call a codebreaker. Wait here."
He stormed out without hearing her.
Codebreaker? No expert would crack this.
No logic, just gut certainty.
Only Sherlock could catch Raven.
With that, Gadget headed to her subordinate's desk.
The background check on Sherlock should be done by now.
Time to uncover her secrets.