Chapter 83: Short-Lived Peace

Ramshackle houses clung together, sprawling up the hillside.

A shantytown where a single rain could wash everything away—So-hee and I climbed its steep paths.

The Legal Department had tracked an escapee to the very top.

Winding, narrow slopes and uneven stairs made it tougher than a hike.

“Huff—haah—ugh!”

Unlike me, walking leisurely with hands behind my back, So-hee trailed a few steps behind, gasping like she was dying.

Her ragged breaths hit my neck, making me scratch it.

“Just wait in the car.”

“How could I… huff…”

Panting, she barely got the words out.

I glanced back.

“Want me to carry you?”

“N-no, that’d be embarrassing in broad daylight.”

She barely swallowed a “yes,” rejecting the offer.

But her desperate, pleading eyes betrayed her words.

I smirked, stepping back and offering my hand. She grabbed it quietly, pretending not to notice.

It calmed her breathing.

Less “holding hands” and more “dragged along,” but it worked for now.

“Thanks.”

“No big deal.”

Pulling her up the hill, I scanned the area, muttering.

This is a lousy hideout.

What is his taste?

Most escapees hid in dark alleys or desolate spots, but this guy was an anomaly.

Even with the dense alleys, eyes were everywhere.

An escapee here would get caught fast.

He was the only one they’d pinned down lately.

We reached the top—a particularly rundown shack among the shacks.

Checking the Legal Department’s address, I nodded.

“This is it.”

Didn’t match the crime at all.

Pausing, I pressed the doorbell.

Ding—bzzzt—

No surprise a house like this had a busted bell.

Still, a voice came from inside.

“Who’s…”

A scrawny young man opened the door.

Thin, narrow-shouldered, pale-faced, he looked starved, lifeless.

Sunken eyes—if he lay down, you’d mistake him for a corpse.

Our eyes met, and I grinned.

The Legal Department’s list—his face was a perfect match.

“Found you.”

He froze, instinct screaming danger.

This wasn’t some random visitor.

He tried slamming the door, but I grabbed the knob first.

“Close it, and I’ll rip it off. Planning to freeze this winter? Oh, right, you’ll be in prison.”

I reached for his neck—or tried to.

A voice came from inside.

“What’s wrong?”

A dry cough, weak.

I looked past his shoulder.

A middle-aged woman lay inside.

Panicked, he shouted.

“A friend! Just a friend!”

“A friend? Come in…”

“No, he’s passing through. Gotta go soon. I’ll talk outside. Rest.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, stepping out.

When they opened, only resignation remained.

I crossed my arms, watching him come quietly.

“Anyone’d think I’m the bad guy and you’re a saint. Some escapee.”

I glanced between him and the shack.

“For a guy who robbed a major bank, you live cheap. Where’s the money? Buried in a garlic field? Tech’s too good for that now.”

“Spend it all.”

“On what? Never mind, not my business. But…”

I pulled out my phone, checking his file.

“No family listed. Accomplice?”

“My mother.”

“Oh?”

Unlisted family or fake records were common for villains.

From her state, not a big deal.

Whatever.

I wagged the phone.

“So, come quietly? Or run? Invisibility Trait, right?”

Not just vanishing from sight—erasing presence entirely, evading sensors, machines, even tracking Traits.

Powerful, but with risks and limits. If he wanted, he could slit a VIP’s throat easily.

His crime was theft, but nothing stopped him from assassination later.

No wonder the Legal Department flagged him high-risk.

“Five-minute duration? Run hard, you might hit mid-hill.”

He answered firmly.

“I’m not running.”

“Good. I’m into one-sided beatdowns, not chases or hostage dramas.”

I pointed downhill, casual but menacing.

“You promised not to run, so no beating or cuffs. Walk down nicely?”

He spoke urgently.

“Wait! I’ll turn myself in. Just one week! Please!”

“For a fake passport? Smuggler ship?”

“My mother’s surgery next week. Her last one—I need to be there.”

I waved off his plea, annoyed.

“Yeah, important surgery. If it wasn’t funded by stolen money. Think your cash wasn’t vital to someone else?”

“It’s…”

He clenched his fists.

“No one helped us. I had no choice.”

“No one helped. Got it.”

I rubbed my lip with my finger, thinking.

He wasn’t a heavy hitter for Zero—Chain. His Trait was just too much for regular prisons.

Without it, he was a petty thief.

“You said you spent the money. On what?”

“Mom’s surgery and meds.”

“How many surgeries?”

“This’ll be the eighth.”

I pointed at him, still rubbing my lip.

“Surgery, meds—bring the receipts.”

“Why?”

He didn’t get it.

I punched his face.

Thwack!—

He collapsed.

“Urgh!”

“Don’t whine. That was light.”

I glared, cold.

“Talking too much makes me look soft? Get them.”

Pale, he staggered inside.

So-hee, watching from the alley, stepped in.

“Talking a lot instead of grabbing him?”

“Checking something.”

“What if he bolts?”

“No worries.”

Unlike her concern, he returned with a stack of receipts.

I checked them against his file on my phone.

He watched, tense.

“Amounts add up.”

Handing back the receipts, I leaned against the crumbling wall.

“So, after escaping, what’re you doing?”

A random question, but his cheek still throbbed from my hit.

He answered quickly.

“Night shifts at a convenience store. Day labor at construction sites.”

“Why? You’re a fugitive for life. Need cash? Pull another heist.”

“Theft covers hospital bills, but I can’t make my family proud with more.”

I snorted.

Some villains justified their crimes like this.

“Bullshit. Repaid the victims?”

“That’s…”

He faltered.

“See? You’re just easing your guilt. No effort for restitution.”

Before he could speak, I stepped off the wall.

“Here’s the deal: want to make your family proud? Turn yourself in.”

“Please, one week—”

“Now.”

I pulled a card from my wallet.

“They’re hiring slaves. Your Trait? The Legal Department’ll love it.”

They were so desperate, even field agents were stuck on desk duty.

A pushover like him?

They’d eat it up.

Confused, he took the card blankly.

It listed the Legal Department head’s name and number.

I added.

“Not calling now. Before prison, give it to any supervisor. They’ll handle it. Slave for the public, you might get a day off a week.”

He stared at the card, then met my eyes, disbelief and emotion swirling.

He understood my words, not my motives.

Why give him this chance?

“Prison might be easier, but this is your last shot to make your family proud.”

He shut his eyes tight.

When they opened, resignation was gone—hope flickered.

“Wait. Five minutes.”

He went inside.

So-hee, listening silently, stepped closer.

“Unexpected. Thought you’d never spare a villain, no matter their story.”

I shrugged cheekily.

“How many choose crime willingly? Maybe it’s the easy path, or the only one. If they feel responsible, I’ll offer another way.”

Not the only reason.

His invisibility trait was perfect for intel and espionage, not just theft.

Heroes were losing the info war to villains. He could turn that around with a single clue.

As a Zero—Chain escapee, he’d draw less suspicion from other villains.

That alone justified a second chance.

So-hee looked at me, touched.

“You’ve grown.”

She patted my butt, proud.

“That’s harassment.”

“Not between us.”

But a doubt furrowed her brow.

“What if he betrays you?”

“No big deal.”

Her worry didn’t faze me.

A one-time meet.

Betrayal wouldn’t sting.

I’d calculated a 50% chance he’d double-cross.

My calm was simple.

“I saw his family. Got the hospital’s name.”

Not trust—it was leverage.

“Not a hostage—a price.”

I grinned.

For a fleeting moment, So-hee thought my expression was pure villain.

As we talked, the escapee returned, his face brighter.

“I’ll turn myself in.”

“Good. Me being here ruins the ‘surrender’ vibe. The Legal Department’s sending someone—talk to them.”

I turned, walking away like I didn’t care.

Down the hill, So-hee wobbled, balancing to avoid tripping.

“Done early today.”

“Yeah.”

Yawning, she turned to me.

“No plans then?”

“Not really. After class, the Dean and Se-ah wore me out. Thinking of resting.”

“Let’s grab lunch.”

“You didn’t eat either?”

“Waiting for you.”

Like me, she’d skipped lunch.

“Ugh, sorry, forgot to tell you.”

“Time’s awkward, though.”

Checking her watch, she muttered, troubled.

3:20 p.m.

The Academy cafeteria and nearby restaurants weren’t serving.

“Grab takeout for home?”

“Sounds good.”

I snapped my fingers.

“Or I could cook.”

“You cook?”

I didn’t answer.

My silence scared her more than a denial.

It’d be edible, right?

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