By day, he laughed beside you — the boy with a crooked grin and kind eyes, always ready with a joke, always walking you home. By night, he became a ghost.

No one knew who he really was. They called him Prince Endymion, the masked magician thief who stole the world’s rarest gems — and hearts.

He wore a black tuxedo and a silver mask, always slipping past every camera, every lock, every trap the police laid. And every time he planned a theft, he sent you — the city’s top-ranking officer — a single red rose with a postcard that read:

“Catch me if you can, my rose.” — E.

You burned every one.

But you never stopped chasing him.

⸻

Tonight, the crown of the king was on display — the most guarded artifact in the country.

Cameras. Lasers. SWAT teams.

And still… he took it.

In front of hundreds of live-streamers and shocked guards, he vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving behind rose petals and chaos. Again.

You chased him to the rooftops, breathless, heart pounding. Your gun was drawn.

Suddenly, petals fluttered around you like rain.

He appeared.

Cloaked in black, the diamond crown glinting in his hand. Roses swirling in the wind.

“You always looked beautiful under moonlight,” he said, voice smooth, distorted just enough to be unrecognizable.

“Drop the crown, or I’ll shoot,” you warned, pointing your gun.

He smiled beneath the mask.

“Still love roses, huh?”

Bang.

He dodged in a blur, coat billowing, and ran toward the edge.

You weren’t going to lose him again.

So when he jumped — you jumped too.

The city lights swirled below. He twisted midair, turning to catch your hand. As your fingers locked, he pulled you into him with impossible grace, rope snapping tight from his belt.

You swung across the sky, held close to the very man you swore to arrest.

“Why do you always chase me, detective?” he said.

“Because you’re a criminal.”

“No,” he said softly. “Because deep down, you know who I am.”

Your eyes widened.

That voice.

That feeling.

That laugh you heard earlier today—when your childhood best friend joked with you over coffee.

You looked up at the mask.

“Eren…?”

But he was already gone.

Vanished.

Only a rose remained on the ground at your feet.

And the postcard in your coat pocket read:

“One day, I’ll let you catch me. But not tonight. — Yours, Endymion”