The Thief Knows the Way

The abandoned bathhouse reeked of stagnant water. The moment I pushed the door open, the stench of old mold and a rotten drain clawed at my throat. Floor tiles were cracked in places, and most of the changing-room lockers hung open like gaping mouths. The walls were covered in graffiti.

I stared at the words for a moment before looking away. Not exactly comforting reading right now.

Before closing the door, I scanned the surroundings. Collapsed wall to the left of the entrance. Broken window inside the changing room. Ventilation duct in the towel-storage ceiling. And the rusted iron door leading down to the basement.

Kang Doyun’s memories surfaced naturally. Never hide in a room with only one exit. Once you’re cornered, it’s over. Always find your way out before you go in. For a third-rate villain’s recollection, it was surprisingly practical.

I stretched a thin thread across a low spot near the entrance, positioned to catch an ankle and snap if anyone entered. My hands moved with eerie familiarity—knowing the exact height that would keep it hidden, how taut to make the line so it would whisper when broken, where to anchor it so I could buy precious seconds to run. I knew all of it.

It wasn’t knowledge I had earned. The feeling was filthy, but that same filth was keeping me alive right now.

I pushed open the iron door behind the towel storage. The rusted hinges groaned. And then—

Thud.

A tiny sound came from behind me.

I froze. That wasn’t wind. It was the thread at the entrance. The sound of it breaking.

“...Already?”

The curse rose in my throat and died there.

Footsteps. One. Two. Three. Too close. Too fast.

I yanked the iron door open and descended. The stairs were narrow and slick. Rust flaked off the handrail onto my palm. Cold, damp air rose from below—boiler room, water tank, ancient pipes, and deeper darkness.

I wedged myself into the farthest corner, set down my backpack, and drew the pistol. Three bullets. At least three pursuers. Even if I dropped one, two would remain. A gunshot would only bring more. Fighting wasn’t an option. I had to run.

The question was where.

A low voice drifted down from the top of the stairs.

“He’s below.”

Another answered, “Blood smell’s still fresh.”

Black Dog. Not Madok’s official pursuit squad, and not Hound. Hound wouldn’t descend with such noisy footsteps. Still, in my position the distinction didn’t matter. If they caught me, it was over.

I gripped the black metal case inside the backpack. A sunspot stone container etched with a red sun emblem. The instant my fingertips touched it, a faint electric current crawled beneath my skin.

Then black text bloomed before my eyes.

My breath stopped. The letters were pure black—darker than the surrounding shadows—yet perfectly clear. I clenched my teeth.

“Of all times…”

The text ignored my circumstances and continued.

Flashlight beams swept the walls above the stairs.

“Copycat.” One of them laughed. “We know you’re in there. Hand over the goods and we’ll let you live.”

Lie. Kang Doyun’s memory reacted instantly. That kind of promise didn’t mean survival. It meant a quicker, cleaner death.

I tightened my grip on the sunspot case. More black lines appeared.

My mind went cold. Villain Manifestation. The name alone told me everything. This power wasn’t made to save anyone.

A list followed immediately.

I didn’t have time to study it. The footsteps on the stairs were getting closer.

“Copycat. Last warning.” A flashlight beam grazed the boiler-room entrance. “Give us the black stone and we’ll only take one limb.”

“What a generous negotiation.” My voice came out cracked and low. Three bullets. Three enemies. A dead-end basement. I had to run.

The stairs were blocked. No windows. Only walls, old pipes, and a water tank behind me. No normal exit.

Then the first name on the list caught my eye. Cowardly Thief’s Escape Route.

I drew a short breath. There was no time to debate whether I should use it. Once dead, there would be no more debates.

“Cowardly Thief.”

The moment the words left my mouth, alien emotions flooded in. A rainy night. Hands scrambling over someone else’s wall. The terror of being beaten to death if caught. A stolen wallet crumpled in a pocket. The fear of fingers closing around my neck. And above all that terror, a servile certainty: to survive, you run. Hide before they ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠grab you. Slip away before the path is blocked. Discard whatever is necessary. Discard, and live.

“Ugh.”

I ground my teeth. These weren’t my memories. They weren’t my feelings. Yet they were painfully vivid, as if someone else’s habits and fears were crawling inside my bones.

Then my vision changed.

Black arrows appeared on the floor. Not toward the stairs—there a glowing red X hovered. Blocked. Dangerous. Death.

The arrows led behind the boiler room, to an old metal plate beside the water tank. Several screws around it glowed faintly. Top-left. Bottom-right. Rusted hinge. It was as if someone had marked the answer right in front of me.

This wasn’t some vague instinct. It showed the way out—arrows only I could see, screws that needed loosening, floors not to step on, gaps to hide in. The most cowardly, and the most precise, path.

I shoved myself behind the boiler. Dust stabbed my throat. A flashlight beam swept the wall right beside me.

“There!”

I pulled out my folding knife and scraped at the glowing screws. A fingernail split. Blood welled from my fingers. My hands didn’t stop. The thief’s memory whispered: pain comes after you’re caught. The first screw loosened. The second. The third. I didn’t need to remove them all. The arrow pointed at the hinge. I only had to pry one side open.

I wedged the knife into the hinge gap and yanked with my whole body. The plate screamed open. A gap just wide enough for one person. Good enough.

I shoved the backpack through first. A gunshot exploded.

Bang!

Concrete fragments sprayed beside my face. A crack spiderwebbed across one lens of my glasses. I twisted my body and forced myself into the pipe shaft. My shoulder scraped metal. My elbow scraped wet concrete. Curses erupted behind me.

“After him!”

“It’s too narrow! Damn it, I can’t fit!”

“You can’t even catch one skinny rat?”

A gun barrel poked into the pipe. I ducked instinctively. Another shot rang out. The bullet ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠struck the pipe above my head. Rusty water poured over my face. The metallic stench mixed with rot burned my nostrils. No time to breathe.

The arrows continued. Left—red X, blocked pipe. Right—black arrow, ventilation duct.

I twisted right. Knees scraped. Back twisted inside the narrow shaft. Behind me came the sound of someone forcing their body inside.

“Copycat! You can’t escape!”

The thief’s lingering echo cackled. Lie. There is always a path.

I scraped at the glowing screw with my knife. It wouldn’t turn. The rust was too deep. My fingers slipped. Blood ran down the handle. Behind me the pipe rang with heavy blows—someone had switched from a gun to a metal pipe. Any slower and they’d crush my ankle.

I sucked in a short breath.

“Please.”

The thief’s memory sneered. Praying won’t open the door. Rip it open with force.

I drove the knife into the screw head and twisted my wrist. Crack. The screw head sheared off. The vent cover rattled. I kicked it hard. The cover fell away and I fell with it.

The floor disappeared.

I tumbled down.

“Kgh!”

My back slammed against concrete. The breath was knocked out of me. White flashed across my vision. But I was alive.

I staggered to my feet. Abandoned underground mall. In the darkness thick with rot and mold, a black arrow pointed toward distant stairs. Curses rained from the vent above.

“He fell down!”

“Go around! Find the exit that leads outside!”

No time. I clutched the backpack and ran. My ankle wobbled. My left knee refused to straighten properly. Still I didn’t stop. Stopping meant being caught. Being caught meant death. Simple arithmetic.

Abandoned shops lined the underground floor—half-shuttered snack bars, a phone store reduced to its sign, a karaoke room with shattered glass doors. A dead mall left to rot beneath the earth.

The black arrow passed the karaoke room and led to the emergency stairs on the right. An old toolbox glowed faintly. At first I thought it was an escape tool. It wasn’t. The thief’s echo whispered: take it. There’ll be something useful. Just steal it.

My feet almost stopped. My hand moved toward the toolbox on its own. Old screwdriver. Rusted pliers. Wire cutters. They might help me escape. So I should take them. No owner. Just abandoned junk. It’s fine, right?

I reached out, then stopped. My breathing shook violently. I couldn’t tell if the thoughts were mine or the thief’s. That disgusted me more.

“No.”

I walked past the toolbox. The thief’s echo writhed in displeasure, but I kept moving.

The emergency-stairs door was locked. The arrow didn’t point at the handle but at the bottom—old padlock, rusted loop, loose screws in the wall. I wedged the knife in and twisted. My wrist felt like it would tear. The lock gave way more easily than expected. The door flew open with a bang.

Cold night air slapped my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠face. The alley behind the abandoned mall. City lights glimmered in the distance.

I leaned against the wall and exhaled. I had escaped. I had survived. Yet I felt no joy at all.

I swallowed dryly. I had only used one escape ability, yet a corner of my mind still itched with the urge to grab someone else’s belongings and run. Villain Manifestation was powerful. But the more I used it, the dirtier I became.

I adjusted my cracked glasses. One lens was shattered, tilting the whole world at an angle. My blood-soaked sleeves were damp, and my messy curls clung to my forehead. Even without a mirror I could imagine how I looked—not like a villain, but like a poor researcher who had been beaten and chased.

And yet I carried the original protagonist’s destined treasure in my bag.

I tightened the backpack straps.

“Now I’ve completely diverged from the original story.”

Tonight Yoon Taeha would not obtain the sunspot stone. The opportunity that should have been his was now inside my backpack. The knowledge stuck in my throat. But I couldn’t return it. The moment I tried, Black Dog would catch me. If caught, I died. If I died, I could change nothing.

So first I had to survive. I had to gather information before Black Dog did. Whether the sunspot stone was really what I thought it was. Whether it had a tracker. How it reacted with my supernormal. And whether this city still had any holes a rat like me could hide in.

One name rose from Kang Doyun’s memories. Rat Merchant. Neither villain nor hero—an information broker. Cowardly, greedy, untrustworthy. But he usually honored deals once money changed hands. Expensive. Talkative. The kind who tripled his price if the client looked weak. Still, he wasn’t the sort who sold people the moment he was paid. If he were, he wouldn’t have lived this long.

I started walking toward the end of the alley. Unmanned laundromat. Illegal access point. The encrypted channel to contact Rat Merchant. The tasks lined up in order.

But my body had reached its limit. My knees trembled. Sensation had dulled in my fingers. Blood still seeped from the broken nail. The palm that had clutched the sunspot case burned red.

Then a shout erupted from inside the abandoned mall.

“Found it! The pipe leads outside!”

Faster than I expected. I clenched my teeth and started running again. The moment I left the alley and tried to reach the main street, another gunshot rang out behind me.

Bang!

Brick fragments sprayed beside my shoulder.

“Stop right there!”

As if any fugitive would stop just because someone told him to. I kept low and darted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠between trash cans. The black arrow pointed to the right side of the alley. At the end was a low iron gate. Closed door. Old latch. Half-torn lock.

I threw my body at it without slowing down. The gate burst open and I tumbled inside. The back courtyard of an abandoned restaurant. The stench of old grease and rotting food hit me. I fought the urge to vomit and stood up. The arrow didn’t stop. Through another door. Over a low wall. Past a discarded motorcycle. I ran for what felt like forever.

When the footsteps finally faded, I collapsed against a wall in a narrow residential alley. My breath scraped like metal in my throat. My heart hammered against my ribs. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I had survived. Again.

I opened the backpack and checked the sunspot case. The black metal container was still there. The red sun emblem remained faintly visible even in the dark.

I stared at it and muttered under my breath.

“I can’t tell if you’re the reason everything went to hell, or the reason I’m still breathing.”

There was no answer. Only the black text lingering faintly before my eyes.

A chill ran down my spine. This power had saved me. At the same time, it was breaking me little by little. The next time I used it, the damage would be worse. And worse after that. Eventually I might not be able to tell whether I was still myself, Kang Doyun, or just scraps left behind by nameless villains.

But choices were limited. The path of a hero had never been open to me. All I had was a stolen opportunity, a bloodstained backpack, three bullets, and the remnants of villains.

I slowly rose to my feet. I had to survive. Survive and find out. How far this world had diverged from the original story. Whether Yoon Taeha could survive without the sunspot stone. And how far I could push this filthy power before it consumed me.

In the basement of the abandoned bathhouse, a Black Dog member who had finally checked the piping route lifted his radio.

“We lost him. Copycat got away with the item.”

Silence. Then came low, rough breathing over the line. Soon, a laugh.

The member stiffened.

“Sir?”

“The smell of blood. The smell of fear. The smell of the one who ran.”

The member swallowed.

“It remains.”

The man on the other end spoke.

“Then that’s enough.”

The low voice continued, chewing each word.

“Release the Hound.”