In the heart of the chaotic island of Orakano, specifically in the capital, the narrow alleys stretched endlessly, packed with crooked houses stacked over each other as if they could collapse at any moment. The air was thick with the smell of dampness and smoke, and piles of garbage gathered at every corner, drawing cats and crows more than humans. The sounds of arguments and curses echoed everywhere. Life here knew nothing but harshness.
Amid this decay, there was a young man walking with sluggish steps. His dirty black hair hung over his shoulders, and the dark circles under his eyes were a sign of sleepless nights. His shirt was torn, and his teeth were yellow. His appearance didn't pleased anybody's eye. Honestly, his look was reflecting the place he came from.
The man glanced around warily, searching for opportunity among the ruins scattered in every corner. His pace slowed when his eyes caught a house unlike the rest. Its walls were tidy, the windows are clean, the small garden was without any trash. It looked misplaced in this wasteland. That house belonged to Ken.
A crooked smile crept across the young man's face before a low laugh escaped him. He rubbed his hands together, and made up his mind:
"This house… will be my target today."
He began his attempt to sneak in. His loud clumsy movements were more as a declaration than stealth, he's not worry at all. The city was so used to chaos that screams and quarrels from nearby alleys made his crime sound like part of its daily rhythm.
He grinned slyly as he reached the window. Wiping the glass with his dirty hand, he peeked inside. No one. What he saw made greed flash in his eyes! A neat couch, clean curtains, ornaments gleaming in the morning light.
He whispered to himself, smiling wide,:
"I've hit a sweet spot."
He reached behind the house, opened his worn backpack, and pulled out an empty wine bottle. He twirled it once in his hand before smashing it against the window.
The glass shattered with a sharp crack. He laughed lightly as he reached through the dangling shards and climbed inside.
He rushed in like a starving animal. For a moment, he stood frozen, his eyes wide as he ran his trembling hands across the furniture. Fine couches, spotless rugs that seemed to shine, air scented with fragrances he'd never known.
He stopped by a small table near the wall, topped with a clear mirror that reflected his tired face. Around it lay precious trinkets. A small music box, an ornate pocket mirror, a crystal vase. His grin widened with delight, as though fate had opened a private treasure chest.
He pulled out a black garbage bag and began stuffing the valuables one after another with frantic speed.
Just as he shoved the last item inside, his body froze. A slow steady footsteps echoed from the hall. They drew closer, each one is a countdown to disaster. Cold sweat trickled down his forehead. Without thinking, he dropped to the floor and crawled under the couch like a terrified child, clutching the bag tightly.
The door creaked open. The sound of its hinges scraped the silence like a protest. The thief didn't move, he kept staring with wide eye at the shadows stretching into the room. Then the owner appeared.
Ken stepped in with calm steady steps. He reached into his inner pocket and drew out a white cigarette case etched faintly with the word "valoritte." With a flick of his wrist, a cigarette slid out between his fingers. He placed it in his mouth.
He raised his left hand, then sparked a small flame with a flick of his finger to lit the cigarette. After that, he inhaled deeply until its tip glowed red. He exhaled slowly, letting the smoke drift and fade.
Ken approached the couch. His eyes caught something out of its place. A smudge of dirt on the floor. He knelt slightly, brushing his fingers across it, then lifted his gaze toward the window. The glass was clearly shattered.
His eyes moved toward the table. Some of the items were missing. A faint smile appeared on his lips, followed by a dry, then a short laugh, it was only for a one second, but enough to chill the air.
The thief's body tensed. That laugh sent shivers crawling up his spine. He pressed his hand to his mouth to muffle his breathing, his heart was pounding like a frantic drum.
Ken stood still for a moment before finally speaking in a low cold voice:
"You know… what angers me most… is when strangers touch my things."
He crouched soundlessly, lowering himself to the floor. His shadow stretched beneath the couch like a predator closing in. When his gray eyes appeared under the edge, it kept staring at the thief, and for that short second, the time stopped.
It wasn't a human stare. It was the gaze of a hunter deciding where to strike first. His eyes were cold as ice, drilling straight into the man's soul. That look alone stripped the thief of feeling in his body.
He got Paralysed, his throat caught the scream before it escaped, but terror broke loose anyway. He shrieked, his sound echoing through the room, scrambling backward in panic.
Ken stayed crouched, the smoke rises up from his cigarette. The thief threw the trash bag aside and crawled toward the broken window. He was gasping, his breaths competing with his heartbeat. His trembling hand reached for escape.
Then Ken lifted his head in a sudden motion. His left hand extended past the thief's body, without touching him. A long red spark shot from his fingertips, snaking toward the shattered window before exploding outside. Firelight reflected off his face.
The thief froze again. His eyes widened, his body shaking uncontrollably as he turned his head slowly.
"Going somewhere?"
Ken's voice was calm and deadly, the words slicing through the last thread of hope in the man's chest. The thief trembled as Ken approached with quietness and deliberate steps. Then Ken's hand shot forward, clamping around his neck with crushing strength. The thief's feet lifted off the ground as he thrashed helplessly, choking for air.
His broken scream came out hoarse, between gasps that never reached his lungs:
"I'm sorry! Please! Forgive me! I won't do it again!"
Ken's grip didn't loosen. The thief's tears streamed down his face, but there was no trace of mercy in Ken's eyes. His right hand rose up, from his palm, a red flame appeared. He drew it back… and swung.
The slap landed with a sound like thunder. The thief screamed as the smell of scorched flesh filled the air. His cheek was burned with a deep red mark on a shape of a human hand.
He collapsed to his knees, his fingers touching the scar that would remind him of this day forever. Ken stepped back, the fire fading slowly from his hand.
His tone stayed cold without feelings:
"Get out. Before I give you another one."
No need to repeat. The screaming thief bolted towards the broken window, he's stumbling in despair to escape. He left the stolen bag behind. His fading screams echoed through the alley. As Ken stood at the middle, watching him vanishing.
He took a slow drag from his cigarette and exhaled, the smoke was rising lazily into the silence, as if nothing had happened at all.