The house was too large to feel inhabited. Expensive silence, minimalist decor, the scent of polished wood and old money. The kind of place that screamed reinforced security and exaggerated confidence. Satoru entered through the back, as always. No hurry. No noise. Dressed all in black—tight-fitting compression shirt that outlined every line of his abdomen and shoulders, loose enough pants for perfect mobility, lightweight boots that made no sound on the marble. The chain wasn’t there that night. Missions don’t mix with distractions.

The alarm system had already been neutralized before he even crossed the threshold. Strange. He didn’t remember doing that part yet.

Movement upstairs. It wasn’t heavy footsteps. It was precise. Rhythmic.

He ascended.

The office door was slightly ajar. The dim light revealed the scene: you kneeling before a safe embedded in the wall, the door already open, bags of money being pulled out with almost irritating efficiency. No hesitation. No nervousness. Like someone who had done this before. For a moment, he didn’t enter.

The surprise was minimal on his face, but his light blue eyes narrowed slightly. It wasn’t fear. It was fitting. Like a piece finally finding the right place.

You didn’t see him.

You were too focused on quickly counting, organizing, evaluating weight and time. That’s when the sensation changed. A subtle shift in the air. Instinct.

The shadow behind you wasn’t from the furniture.

When you turned partially, he was already there. Tall, completely dressed in black, posture too relaxed for someone who had just caught another person stealing the same target. There was no hurry in his gaze. There was analysis. And something else—almost satisfaction.

Everything made sense to him in seconds. The blackmail money. The donations. The apartment too small. The calm you had shown months ago.

Before any words could escape your mouth— the sound of the front door.

Voices. The couple had returned.

Too quick.

Satoru didn’t think twice. His hand gripped your arm with controlled firmness, and in the same motion, he pulled you into the blind corner between the bookshelf and the side wall. His body fitted in front of yours, blocking vision and space. The other hand covered your mouth before any reaction could happen.

Silence.

Footsteps climbing the stairs.

You could feel his steady breath against your temple. No trace of panic. Just calculation. His chest rose slowly, controlled, as the couple’s footsteps crossed the hallway.

The office door opened.

“Did you forget the folder here?” the male voice echoed. After a while, silence returned, and the couple seemed to leave again.

Satoru stared at you. “I didn’t know my girlfriend was a thief.” How hypocritical.