Chapter Text
Frantic footsteps echo across the room. In the dark, however, it’s difficult to see the young masked man crouched in front of a display case. Pausing, the tiny tension wrench and pick stills in the lock as he listens. He pauses to discern the direction of the footsteps, and when they start to fade he resumes picking the lock, biting his tongue and refraining from hurrying and making a mistake.
For such a highly prized necklace, the thief is surprised at how easily the lock comes undone. There’s a click, the display case slides open easily, and he grins.
But he knows, knows that was too easy. Knows that there’s more than meets the eye. As he slips his lockpicks back into his pocket, his vision changes and ah, there’s the challenge. Instead of alarming the entire room, the case has been fitted with its own laser alarm system. It makes sense, the gallery isn’t all that famous and with a limited budget and his calling card specifying this necklace, they had opted for the cheapest route. The man almost wants to laugh at how anyone could think something so simple could stop him.
As he spends his time jerry-rigging a crude solution to the lasers, the footsteps return and he’s a fool to ignore them. It’s inelegant he notes duly but the guard has already spotted him so he’s got nothing to lose at this point. Shoving his hand into the case he grabs the necklace off the stand as the alarms are all set off.
The jig is up and it’s time he makes his escape. On one side is the startled guard and the sound of many more footsteps all running in his direction. The other side is a wall of windows that display a lovely view of the Paris skyline. Before he has a chance to decide, there’s the resounding sound of a gunshot and sudden shattering sound of glass. No longer is there a window behind him, but the cold open November air.
He stares shocked at the guards as they fill the room, the one who had shot the gun at the forefront. The man’s face is hidden by his hat, but the grin he displays is obvious and familiar. In one fluid motion the hat is removed, and silver hair frames the man’s face. Piercing blue eyes stare down the thief, handgun still trained on him. They’re at an impasse and the masked man recomposes himself.
“Ah, Detective Nikiforov, how good it is to see you again!” He makes to step to the side, grinning, and the silver haired man fires again. The thief steps back instead, on the edge of the broken window, and just smirks. “My, my. You’ve never been quite this forceful before, Detective.”
“I’ve gotten new orders, to bring down the Phantom Thief Eros even if it means gunning him down in the process.”
“Ah~ how mean. Well I have no intention of dying tonight, Detective, so I’m afraid there’s a conflict of interests here.”
Wrapping his cape around himself, Eros steps back through the window, laughing as he falls.
A few moments later there’s silence.
When the police and detectives search the surrounding area, there is no trace of the phantom thief or his prize. It’s as if he disappeared into thin air. Just like a phantom.
But there’s no such thing as ghosts or phantoms. Of course not.
Since I, Eros, am the one writing this story.
But maybe we should start at the beginning, before this whole mess in Paris happened. Before I decided to become a phantom thief and before I met Detective Victor Nikiforov.
At the very beginning I was just Katsuki Yuuri, Japanese figure skater.