Chapter Text
It’s a warm Thursday afternoon, and Sunoo is running late for his dissertation presentation.
“Please, sir, you have to understand!” Hands clasped, he turns to beg the nearest museum guard, who is 100% not paid nearly enough to deal with this situation. “My entire degree depends on this! I can’t be late.”
He hopes he looks disheveled enough. Rumor has it that Ph.D. students are always stressed out of their minds– though it’s not like he’s an expert on the trials and tribulations of doctorate students; hell, he’s never even been to college.
The man finally looks like he’s been swayed slightly.
“My apologies, but the head office has ordered a full lockdown. The robber hasn’t left the museum grounds yet. No one is allowed to leave or enter until they’re given clearance. It’s just protocol.”
Yada yada yada. Never mind, then.
Sunoo huffs and starts to pace back and forth, running his hands through his dark red hair in feigned distress. Yes, he’s never attended college, but he’s always wished he could have majored in theater. Considering his entire life is a massive act, he considers himself to be rather skilled in the art of dramatics.
“I can’t believe this. I came to the museum today so I could destress a little, unwind and relax before the most important presentation of my entire life!”
He halts in place, plastering a distraught expression on his face as he stares up at the ceiling.
“Why did it have to be today of all days that some asshole decided to rob the fucking museum?”
One of the guards speaks into his walkie-talkie. Another one tries to calm Sunoo down. “Sir, might you be able to reschedule this presentation of yours–”
“No!” Sunoo spins aggressively on his heel to face the guard, gasping adamantly. “No, I can’t just reschedule! The doctorate program I’m in is highly competitive! If I miss my dissertation presentation of all things, I’m bound to get rescinded entirely! I’ve spent the last decade of my life working towards this!”
He stalks closer to the guard, who shrinks back, clearly intimidated. “Do you understand? I have dedicated my life to the study of anthropology in the 1870s. I refuse to let a stupid museum robbery get in the way of me earning my PhD!”
Of course, Sunoo doesn’t know anything about anthropology in the 1870s. But it sounds boring enough that no one will bother him about details, so that’s what he’s running with right now.
“I’m terribly sorry, sir. No one is allowed to enter or leave–”
Sunoo groans, pulling out his phone and pretending to text someone. In reality, he’s checking the time, right down to the second.
“God, now I’m going to have to message my professor. Not to mention the other 6 high-ranking university officials I’m scheduled to present to. They’re not going to believe me when I tell them that I got held up because someone robbed the museum. And guess who’s going to have to answer to that?”
Poor security guard. Sunoo feels bad, really.
“You and your incompetent team of nincompoops who can’t keep track of their own security system! My god!”
10 more seconds.
“This is ridiculous. My entire life’s work, wasted.”
5 seconds.
“Do you people have no sympathy for a tired PhD student?”
3. 2. 1.
Right on cue, loud alarm bells start ringing inside the museum. The guards jump up in surprise, back on high alert. The one with the walkie-talkie starts talking frantically into the microphone.
Sunoo smirks, faint, out of sight.
“Roger that.” He turns to his fellow guards. “There was a ceiling breach in the West Wing. Robber’s escaping from there. They’ve got it under control.”
“Great!” He perks up, hoping he looks eager enough. “Since I’m clearly not the robber who’s escaping on the other side of the building, could you maybe let me leave so I don’t get kicked out of my doctorate program?”
He stands there, hands on his hips, waiting until the guards pay attention to him again. Finally, one of them turns to him and waves him away.
“Yeah, yeah. You can go now. Uh, good luck on your presentation, I guess?”
Sunoo breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you, gosh. That wasn’t so hard.”
He pushes the doors to the museum open, stepping outside. “Good luck catching that robber.”
As he walks away, down the stairs and far far away, he mutters under his breath a soft, “You’re gonna need it.”
The weight of an ancient stone knife rests heavy in the hidden pocket of Sunoo’s jacket. It’s one of the artifacts in the museum’s newest and prized collection, Tools Throughout Human History. Not a terribly interesting collection, but some of the stuff being displayed is worth quite a lot of money. Sunoo would know, he’s spent hours upon hours researching everything in the collection to figure out the artifact that would get him the most bang for his buck.
Turns out this knife is one of the most expensive items on the entire item list. Who would have guessed; it’s old and crusty and looks like a 2nd grader’s bad drawing of a banana. It’s worth upwards of 130 million won, though, and that’s more than enough for Kim Sunoo.
Nestled in the pocket next to his new treasure is his trusty mask, a pretty little thing designed to look like a golden fox’s snout. It’s protected Sunoo’s identity on more than one occasion, and he crafted it himself a long time back when he first began what he affectionately dubs, “his ‘small’ business.”
Sunoo’s always been intelligent. Prodigious, some would even say, though he’s too humble to call himself that. From the start, he had been a nobody aspiring to be a somebody, and his mind was his greatest tool.
He has the perfect origin story, too. An orphan, abandoned and left to fend for himself. He didn’t have an identity of his own, but he used his namelessness to his own advantage and crafted himself a new persona that he could hide behind.
Sunoo has never needed anyone else but himself. He’s made it this far all on his own, and he’s perfectly happy working as a one-man team. He’s smart enough to handle all of the digital hacking, witty enough to get out of the stickiest situations, and persuasive enough to manipulate his way around any obstacle.
Art thievery isn’t quite the typical career you’d see at an elementary school job fair, but then again, Sunoo hasn’t had quite the typical life. His past is shaded in ambiguity, but he’s managed to end up where he believes he needs to be.
His feet lead him a couple of blocks down from the museum, right into a not-so-crowded coffee shop. Today, he’s feeling a warm latte with caramel syrup. His comfort drink. Sunoo greets the barista with a brilliant smile and places his order, paying with spare bills.
(Of course Sunoo pays for his coffee. He’s a perfectly upstanding citizen, after all.)
(Most of the time.)
He takes a seat at a table near the pickup counter, eyes drifting towards the small TV mounted in the corner of the shop. It’s tuned to the local news channel, reporting live on the…museum robbery, apparently.
Well, Sunoo didn’t expect the news outlets to be this quick to arrive on the scene, but it’s honestly all the more satisfying to watch the fruits of his labor.
Grabbing his freshly made, piping-hot coffee from the counter, Sunoo sits down again and sips carefully, a tiny smile on his face. The anchor speaks rapidly, clearly receiving information as it comes in.
“Good afternoon, Seoul. Today, we’re receiving reports that the Seoul Art and History Museum has just been robbed. Officials are on the scene now, trying to gain a scope of the situation.”
The screen cuts to helicopter shots of the now-cordoned off museum surrounded by police cars and barricades. All in vain. It’s all in vain, and Sunoo could not be more pleased.
“The missing artifact is a stone knife dating back at least 4000 years, one of the centerpieces of SAHM’s newest historical collection, Tools Throughout Human History.” A picture of Sunoo’s knife flashes on screen. “The collection was set to debut tomorrow night through a private charity gala, and then be opened to the public the next morning. Now, with the knife missing, the future of the project is unclear.”
He couldn’t care less about what happens to the rest of the museum collection project. He has his knife, and he has his coffee, and he’s content to watch the repercussions of his little heist cause all this beautiful chaos.
“Upon closer inspection of the crime scene, officials discovered a familiar symbol.” Sure enough, the next image that’s shown on the screen is one of Sunoo’s signature cards, printed with the simple insignia of a golden-brown fox. “This is the calling card of the infamous art thief known as the Copper Fox.”
Okay, so his name is meant to be the Golden Fox, not the Copper Fox, but what can you do about public opinion?
To be fair, when Sunoo was deciding on colors to use for his general theme, the Pantone description had clearly stated itself to be gold. Unfortunately for him and his reputation, the general public has absolutely zero understanding of color theory, so now Sunoo is stuck with a shitty name like the Copper Fox.
He’s being dramatic, he knows it, but it certainly doesn’t have the same ring to it as the “Golden Fox.” Sunoo, being eternally humble and understanding, has learned to live with it.
“The knife’s absence was reported at 3:16 PM, and the museum was immediately placed under lockdown to prevent the thief from leaving. However, at 3:38 PM today, the West Wing’s ceiling alarm was triggered, leading museum authorities to believe that the Copper Fox was attempting to escape from there. However, they were not able to find any trace of the elusive burglar. Detectives have deduced that the alarm was set off as a distraction in order to allow the Copper Fox to leave the perimeter another way.”
They’ve hit the nail on the head. Unfortunately for the authorities and very fortunately for Sunoo, they’re around an hour too late.
“Authorities are attempting to set up an investigation into the crime, but given the Copper Fox’s notorious history and infamous elusiveness, it’s highly unlikely that anything will come out of it.”
So they’ve learnt this time. They’ve learnt that it would be completely useless to pour hundreds of thousands of dollars into a police investigation, because as determined as the authorities probably are to find Sunoo, it will all end up being in vain anyways. Kim Sunoo– the Copper Fox– would never ever let himself be caught unless he wanted to be caught.
“Today’s incident is the latest in a string of art thefts plaguing South Korea’s museums. Interestingly enough– and to the displeasure of national police authorities– the thefts are not the work of just one mastermind.”
It takes Sunoo an immense amount of self-restraint to stop from physically recoiling back in disgust. Of-fucking-course the media decides to ruin his moment in the spotlight for the asshole that is–
“Little Prince, Korea’s other art-thief-at-large,” the anchor continues, and Sunoo almost gags, “has been on a museum rampage parallel to the Copper Fox’s trail.”
On the screen, a map of South Korea flashes. Pinpoints of coppery red pop up all over the country, representing spots where Sunoo has made his hits. How satisfying. He’s never felt more proud.
That pride quickly melts away when alongside his signature copper, light blue pins start to crop up. The two colors follow an almost alternating trail around the country, and Sunoo’s the only one who’ll ever know that the pattern is not entirely intentional. In fact, it’s fucking irritating. That bastard who calls himself the Little Prince just thinks he can meddle with Sunoo’s schemes and get away with it.
Obviously, Sunoo’s not innocent either. He can play dirty. Dirtier if he wants.
He takes a vengeful gulp of his coffee…and immediately dissolves into a painful coughing fit loud enough to garner some concerned looks from nearby customers. He forgot how hot his coffee was. And now in addition to his declining mood, his tongue fucking hurts. Not even the heavy stone knife hidden in his jacket can make him feel better.
“...The Little Prince’s track record shows a laundry lists of museums that are uncannily similar to those hit by the Copper Fox. This pattern can only suggest one thing.”
Sunoo swears– if that lady says what he thinks she’s going to say, then he’s going to go feral. Maybe he’ll rob the news station next. Or better yet, the lady’s house. Hit ‘em at the source.
“Investigators and the public alike have been speculating about what seems to be obvious: are the Copper Fox and the Little Prince in cahoots?”
Aaaand there it is. The ringer. Guess Sunoo’s going to be breaking into a reporter’s house soon.
How dare the fucking imbeciles at the news station try to soil Sunoo’s– no, the Copper Fox’s– impeccable reputation as a successful lone wolf, especially by comparing him to an asshole with a stick so far up his ass that Sunoo’s surprised he can even pull off any heists.
No. Absolutely not. Sunoo would never ever be caught dead conspiring with Little Prince, that piece of shit. Any supposed “patterns” that these so-called “investigators” have found are pure coincidences. That, or Little Prince is purposefully choosing targets that match Sunoo’s rapport simply to piss him off. Honestly, Sunoo wouldn’t put it past the dude.
Onscreen, the reporter shuffles through a stack of papers. The (nonsense, Sunoo thinks) map behind her shifts onto a new slide, this time a t-chart showing similarities between him and that scummy excuse for an art burglar.
Sunoo scoffs as he watches words flash on the screen. The comparisons are grade-school level, laughable at best. Come on; the best they could come up with was that both of them, “have an inclination to diversify their targets?” Of course they do– Sunoo is absolutely not a basic bitch, and Little Prince is a sneaky little copycat who has no sense of originality.
When the anchor starts to speculate about the two possibly even being the same person (which takes some crazy audacity), Sunoo decides he’s done listening to this shitshow. He lets out a comically loud sigh and stands, grabbing his finally-consumable coffee and taking a swig.
The lady next to him sends him a sympathetic glance. “Horrible, isn’t it?”
Sunoo blinks at her once, twice, before he realizes she’s referring to the robbery of the museum and not the news station’s abysmal analysis of Sunoo’s own alter ego.
“Yeah,” he clicks his tongue. “What a shame.”
-•-
+*•––∆˙˚˙∆––•*+
-•-
Sunoo never stays in one place for very long.
He’s not worried about getting caught or anything; what kind of high-end art burglar would he be if he didn’t know how to tie up all of his loose ends?
No, Sunoo just…gets bored easily. He’s never felt the need to settle down, never had any sort of desire to make a home out of anywhere. He’s a nomad by all aspects. This is due to three reasons.
One: Sunoo’s profession rakes in a fuck ton of moolah. He’s got more money than he even knows what to do with. So he allows himself some liberty, the freedom to switch it up every few months and explore new neighborhoods and new living spaces. It spices up his life a bit. And the remaining portion of money that he doesn’t use for house and living costs, he donates to charity. Again, he’s nowhere near heartless.
Two: Sunoo’s a victim of the travel bug. The time he spends in Seoul is usually occupied with planning out heists and staking out targets. When he’s not embodying the stereotype of the perfect art thief, he’s not even in the country. In fact, just a few weeks ago, Sunoo was living it up in Santorini, enjoying a well-deserved vacation in the Mediterranean. The week before, he was in Moscow on a spontaneous trip. It simply wouldn’t make sense for Sunoo to have a permanent home here in Seoul when he wouldn’t even be living in it most of the time.
And three: it feels…weird. There’s just something that never feels quite right about setting up a home. Believe him, he’s tried. But no matter how much furniture he’s thrifted or (non-stolen) artworks he’s hung up, no house of his has ever really felt like home. It’s probably the lack of pictures, or maybe because he doesn’t have anything really personal to him to display. There’s just no real warmth or comfort present, and Sunoo can’t stand it but he doesn’t quite know how to fix it, so he’s just given up on trying entirely.
Of course, it doesn’t really matter to him. He’s used to this life by now. He actually kind of enjoys the spontaneity of it all. Really, he does.
Lately, he’s taken refuge in a cute little apartment located in a high-rise smack dab in the middle of Seoul. It’s nothing to marvel at, just a studio with a loft bedroom. In the not-really-living-room is a simple couch with a coffee table in front of it, and directly in front of that is a large picture window overlooking the bustling city below.
Sunoo basks in the late afternoon sunshine, stretching out on the couch like a cat. The feeling right after a successful heist is truly like no other, and it fills his chest with a warm sort of satisfaction that’s just as strong as it was the first day Sunoo ever pulled off a flawless heist.
Yawning, Sunoo reaches out and fumbles for the stone knife he had dumped unceremoniously on the coffee table earlier. Yada yada yada, mint condition or whatever. The stupid thing’s already covered in scratches and grooves and bumps and whatnot. No one’s gonna notice if there’s any new additions.
He examines the thing disinterestedly. It really doesn’t look like anything special, just a blunt piece of what looks like granite that’s been roughly carved into something vaguely resembling the shape of a knife. Apparantly it’s an artifact from the Stone Age– whoopty doo, who would have guessed that a stone knife was from the Stone Age– but Sunoo’s more interested in the fact that it’s worth a decently large sum of dough.
He’s a simple man who takes pleasure in the simple things in life…like money! Who can blame him? Besides, he’s learned long ago that in this field, having a conscience is a dangerous thing. There’s nothing more incriminating than feeling guilt for something you’ve done, because guilt can lead to doing something stupid like trying to return something you’ve stolen and almost getting yourself arrested by the police.
Sunoo would know, he used to have a conscience back when he first started out as the Copper Fox. But he’s given that up a long time ago– the conscience part, not the art thief part.
Besides, it’s much easier to come to terms with your actions when you know that none of the stuff that you’ve stolen from a museum is the museum’s rightful property in the first place. Sunoo makes it a point to only take items that have themselves already been stolen by the organizations behind the museums from their true owners or the lands where the artifacts are rooted in culture.
In his mind, Sunoo’s doing the right thing. And if he makes some good money from it, then so be it. What can you do?
In between absorbing the fading sunlight and absentmindedly twirling the knife in his hands, Sunoo hears the familiar ring of his burner phone in his jacket pocket.
Hmm, so soon? He supposes he’s gotta give these guys credit where credit is due; it hasn’t even been 4 hours since he strolled out of the museum and there’s already people calling him up about the knife.
Making sure the homemade voice modulator modification he added is turned on, Sunoo hits accept on the call.
“This is the Copper Fox,” he drawls. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”
The voice on the other side responds in an unnatural timbre similar to Sunoo’s own modified voice. “You know what we’re calling about, Red.”
Sunoo smirks; what a perfect set up for him to play around a bit. After all, he’s a fox. Sly, witty, and most of all, difficult.
“Nope! No idea. Sir…or ma’am, or gentleperson. Whichever way you wish to be referred to. Yes, you’ll have to be more specific. You see, I have quite a lot on my plate.”
He can hear the person on the other end sigh heavily in frustration. Goody goody. He loves this.
”Quit playing games, Red, and tell us what we want to hear. Or else the deal’s off.”
Sunoo clicks his tongue. “Oh, but I do love my games! Besides, what would you ever do without me? I’m too important for your little organization to lose.”
He expects the silence that comes after his words. What he does not expect is the person’s weighty chuckle, like they know something he doesn’t. Sunoo hates being in the dark.
”You seem to forget that you’re not the only capable burglar in the area.” And oh, if Sunoo doesn’t seethe at the mere mention of–
” Little Prince has proven himself to be quite the robust contact. In fact, only a few days ago he pledged a large supply of valuable items, enough to shake our market a bit. So, Copper Fox, we’re calling to inform you that the item you’ve recently gained into your possession is no longer worth as much as you believe it does.”
The only thing Sunoo hates more than being in the dark… is Little Prince.
He clenches his teeth, anger surging from the pit of his stomach all the way up his throat, threatening to explode in a litany of curses. It takes an impressive amount of restraint not to spew out just exactly what he thinks of these idiots. Unfortunately, this is his career, so he has to maintain some level of professionality.
“So,” he hisses with barely-contained acrimony. “Do you want the knife or not? Because if not, then I’ll contact another client from the plethora lined up just waiting to work with me.”
Everything’s riding on them not calling his bluff. Sunoo likes things remaining constant; he’s not a fan of change. He’s been working with this black market organization since he first started his jobs, and no, he’s not in contact with any other alternative agencies who do anything even remotely similar. It’s not exactly a high-traffic, high-demand market.
Besides, how would he even find more black market clients? It’s not like he can just walk up to someone and say, “Hey, I’m on the tippy top of Seoul’s Most Wanted list and I’m also one of the most infamous art thieves in the world, do you perhaps know anyone who’s willing to be a third-party for me to sell all the illegally acquired goods I steal every now and again?”
Pissy Person on the other end of the call clicks their tongue. “We’ll do 110 million won at the most. Take it or leave it, Red.”
That’s a 20 million won drop in value, which is absolutely criminal, but then again who is Sunoo to be talking, considering his line of work? It’s either that or nothing.
“..fine.” Sunoo grits his teeth. “110 million.”
“Excellent! We knew you’d see reason, Red.” The voice sounds ecstatic, and Sunoo has never wanted to punch someone he’s never really met more than he does right now.
He stays silent, restraining himself. Composure is one thing he prides himself on.
“We’ll be expecting the goods at the usual dead drop location. The sum will be wired to the middleman account shortly. As always, it’s a pleasure doing business–”
Sunoo sighs exaggeratedly into the mic and hangs up the call before the person can finish their sentence. Of course, there’s only so much composure he can maintain.
If he glares any harder at the popcorn ceilings in his apartment, lasers will shoot out of his eyes and destroy the plaster. Irritated isn’t the right word to describe how Sunoo feels right now; it’s closer to fully pissed off. All his problems lead to one infuriating cause: Little Prince and his penchant for always knowing exactly what will tick Sunoo off the most.
He’s never even met the guy; hell, he’s never even seen the guy. For all Sunoo knows, he could be some middle-aged ugly loser old enough to be his dad. It’s easier to hate him if Sunoo imagines him like that.
Distantly, he realizes that he’s reached, like, the peak of a bizarre parasocial rivalry and that he’s really much better than this– but he shoves his rationality to the back of his mind.
Consider it a motivating factor to erase this…this stain on his reputation. Sunoo will do better. He needs to.
He is the Copper Fox, after all. And he refuses to settle for any disrespect.