Chapter 16: The Detective and the Phantom Thief

A small meow drifted down from the top of a stone wall, followed by the appearance of an orange cat with an unusually large, round head. The cat, seemingly unafraid of humans, hopped onto the wooden crates and claimed its spot. Because of the cat’s sheer bulk, Simon found himself nudged slightly to the side.

Pushed around even by a cat. Simon’s pride took a minor hit. In contrast, Clint beamed at the feline.

“So, you’ve been doing well? This is the Boss.”

“His name is Boss?”

“He’s the most successful guy among the strays, so… Boss.”

Clint pulled out the dried fish he had bought at the shop. He carefully offered a piece to the cat. Boss sniffed it thoroughly before looking up at Clint.

“Eat this, and tell Nora to get her tail back home. Her human is worried sick.”

Clint was dead serious. Simon’s lips twitched as he fought back a burst of laughter. Clint shot him a look of mock indignation.

“Hey, this worked last time!”

“What? Surely that was just a coincidence.”

“No, I’m serious. The very evening I asked him to pass on the message, Nora returned home.”

“Ah, I see. Of course.”

“Hey, tell him I’m telling the truth,” Clint grumbled to the cat. Regardless of the conversation, Boss let out a meow, chomped down on the fish, and began chewing with his puffy cheeks moving rhythmically. Clint scratched the back of the cat’s neck, asking if it tasted good. Clint smiled often, but this smile was different—softer and more genuine than usual. Simon etched the image into his mind, certain that this small, mundane moment would become an unforgettable memory.

The two continued their search for a while longer, but unfortunately, Nora was nowhere to be found.

Upon returning to the estate, Simon didn’t forget to brag to Lizzie—who came to help him change—about his plans to attend the Kenyon Masquerade with Clint. Lizzie clapped, calling it “huge progress,” leaving Simon feeling quite triumphant. A tiring but joyful day came to a close.

The next morning, Simon arrived at Clint’s office early for “work.” Behind him, several burly footmen followed, lugging a massive bookshelf. Clint, who had opened the door to greet him, stood frozen in shock.

“What is this?”

“A bookshelf. You said I could bring one yesterday.”

“I did… but I was thinking of something small…”

Clint’s jaw dropped at the sight of the mahogany shelf, which was as tall as he was and clearly made of expensive timber. Taking advantage of the distraction, Simon quickly urged the servants to shove the shelf into the office. Once his collection of detective novels was lined up, the shelf felt so permanent that Clint wouldn’t be able to move it even if he wanted to.

“Isn’t this… a bit much?”

“It was the only one at home we weren’t using. I couldn’t very well buy a new one, could I?”

Simon lied through his teeth. He had spent a great deal of time specifically picking out the largest, heaviest, and most expensive piece of furniture he could find. If Clint ever tried to leave, the logistics of dealing with this bookshelf would force him to contact Simon.

At least then I can say goodbye properly. Or if I’m lucky, I can ask where he’s going and send letters.

At the very least, he wouldn’t disappear without a word like last time. Simon had no intention of stopping Clint from leaving—he knew he wasn’t important enough to change the man’s mind—but he wanted the chance for a proper farewell. Furthermore, the satisfaction of having his own belongings inside Clint’s space was immense. Simon wore a proud smile.

Since no other requests besides finding Nora had come in, the day remained quiet. They decided to head out to rent costumes for the masquerade, using information Simon had gathered through Lizzie.

Renting clothes was a foreign concept to Simon, but apparently, it was common practice. Had they more time, he would have had suits custom-made, but since the decision to attend was last-minute, renting was the only option.

They arrived at a party supply shop not far from the office. It was small but packed to the rafters with colorful, eccentric costumes and props—outfits from ancient eras, mystical Eastern robes, and even strange leather harnesses. It was filled with colorful wigs, fake beards, masks, and animal-ear headbands.

“Pick your clothes and props. Fill out the registry and pay the deposit at the front.”

The shop assistant spoke with a blunt, businesslike tone, appearing entirely uninterested in the customers. Unused to such indifferent service, Simon tentatively ventured deeper into the shop.

“There’s so much here.”

“Is there a specific person or character you want to be?” Clint asked from his side.

“Um… I’m not sure.”

Simon trailed off. Seeing his hesitation, Clint strode over to a rack and pulled out a stylish beige checkered cape coat. It was a straight-cut, knee-length piece that looked sophisticated yet comfortable—a stark contrast to Simon’s usual high-collared cravats and rigid jackets.

It was exactly like the illustration of Detective Sevardo from the novels.

“How about this? You said you wanted to try being a detective.”

“I did, but still…”

To dress up as a man whose beauty was praised for entire pages of text? Simon waved his hands in refusal, but Clint thrust the coat into his arms anyway.

“Just try it on.”

Clint pushed him toward the dressing room. Caught off guard, Simon stood inside holding the clothes, feeling hesitant. I’ll look ridiculous.

“I’ll be waiting right here,” Clint’s relaxed voice called out.

Fine, let’s just try it.

He could always take it off. With a deep breath, Simon changed. He shed his tight jacket and unfastened the suffocating cravat, slipping into the cape coat and trousers. To his surprise, he felt incredibly comfortable.

“Come out when you’re ready. I’ll take a look.”

Clint’s timing was perfect. Simon stepped out tentatively. The moment Clint saw him, he let out a soft exclamation.

“It suits you perfectly.”

“…Really? I feel so awkward.”

“It’s just because it’s a style you don’t usually wear. Now, if we just add this… and this…”

Clint stepped closer and began to ruffle Simon’s neatly combed hair. After messing it up and styling it back into a more natural look, he placed a checkered beret with a built-in eye mask on Simon’s head. He even straightened the hem of the coat.

“You’re the spitting image of Detective Sevardo.”

Clint stepped aside so Simon could see the mirror. Simon stared, wide-eyed.

Is that really me?

It wasn’t ridiculous at all. In fact, he looked grand. The loose fit of the coat masked his thin frame, making him look broader and healthier. Combined with his height, the sophisticated style gave him the bright, confident aura of a young man. He felt like someone smart and capable—someone completely different from his usual self.

I can actually look like this.

A strange sense of joy swelled in his chest.

“You like it, don’t you?”

Simon nodded enthusiastically. He felt better than he ever could have imagined.

“Then it’s settled. Now I just have to pick mine.”

“Oh, what are you going to wear, Mr. Clint?”

“Try and guess.”

Clint gave a playful wink and vanished into the dressing room. The man truly had a knack for making Simon’s heart race. Simon clutched his chest, waiting for Clint to emerge.

Thump.

His heart, which hadn’t yet settled, began to beat even harder.

Clint emerged wearing an outfit that was the polar opposite of his usual free-spirited attire. He wore a tucked dress shirt and a navy tailcoat—short in the front and long like a swallow’s tail in the back. Though a classic, slightly old-fashioned design, it was elegant and refined, looking like something one would wear to a high-society garden party.

“It’s Arsène, the Phantom Thief!”

Simon’s eyes sparkled. If Sevardo was the king of detectives, Arsène was the king of thieves—a gentleman thief with a classic, aristocratic flair. Because of their opposing concepts, the two were often paired and compared in literature.

“Correct! Where there’s a detective, there must be a phantom thief, right?”

Clint placed a hand on his chest and extended the other arm in a graceful, sweeping bow. Simon found himself clapping. If it’s a thief like this, I wouldn’t mind if he stole my entire fortune. I’d leave the windows unlocked the moment I got a calling card.

“Come here a second.”

Clint called him over. Simon felt a deep kinship with the many characters in the novels who fell for the Phantom Thief’s charms. He approached Clint as if possessed. As he stared blankly, Clint let out a soft chuckle.

“Look over there.”

Clint pointed to a large mirror. It reflected the two of them: Simon as the modern, stylish Detective Sevardo, and Clint as the formal, classic Phantom Thief. They were as different as two sides of a coin, yet they looked like a perfect pair.

Clint and I… a pair.

The thought was so moving he felt like his heart might burst. Knowing they would go to the party like this—and that some people might even mistake them for a couple—made him feel a giddy, uncontrollable happiness.

Simon felt like he was walking on air.

“If you’ve made your choices, bring them here!”

At the assistant’s call, they quickly changed back into their regular clothes. Even through the mundane tasks of filling out the registry and paying the fees, the sense of wonder didn’t fade.

“I’m so excited.”

Simon walked with a light spring in his step, radiating joy. Though Clint hadn’t originally cared for the masquerade, being around the glowing Simon made him feel good as well.

“I’m heading out to look for the cat now. What about you?”

“I’m coming too!”

When they had told the Apple Tree Lady the night before that they hadn’t found Nora, her crestfallen face had stuck in Simon’s heart. He was determined to find the cat.

“I set some traps last night. I want to make a round and check them. It’ll be a lot of walking, so tell me if you’re tired, okay?”

Clint’s concerned tone was so sweet it made Simon’s heart flutter again.

As they left the shop and began walking toward the traps, a familiar voice suddenly boomed through the air.

“Simon! Grayan!”

It was a voice like a thunderclap.

Dalton Grayan. Simon’s eyes locked with Dalton’s. Dalton’s face was twisted with rage, burning a deep red like a tomato. He glared back and forth between Clint and Simon before stomping toward them.