"Who to target tonight?"
Shea, the white-haired Nightshade Catfolk, stood atop the roof tiles. Her exceptional night vision pierced the pitch-black, moonless night, revealing every potential prey below.
Sadly, her recent frequent heists had put nobles on high alert. Success now felt far less likely.
If caught, Shea knew her fate all too well. That’s why she always carried a small knife—not for fighting back, but for a quick end.
To spare herself hellish torment.
Shea cherished her life. Normally, she took just enough each month to scrape by.
But this month’s haul was pitifully small. She had no choice but to risk it again.
"Let’s go…"
Shea landed lightly on the ground. As a Nightshade Catfolk, her night agility outpaced any ordinary guard.
By day, she could shift forms: white hair to black, drooping ears to perked, pupil color altered—only her face shape stayed familiar.
A handy disguise for her kind.
After two steps, an alley shadow caught her eye—a cloaked figure lay motionless.
She almost walked past, but noticed his unconscious state.
Business at her doorstep?
Shea crept closer. Sure enough, a deep chest wound had knocked him out. Blood had clotted; in this world, such injuries rarely killed.
"His hand… a rich guy?"
Her eyes lit up at the ring on his finger—a Spatial Ring! A true mark of wealth.
Perfect!
No more dragon’s-den raids or tragic heroine endings.
Tears of joy welled as she stripped the unconscious man bare: Spatial Ring, weapons, jewelry, cloak, clothes—all gone.
It was June anyway. Sleeping naked here wouldn’t harm him.
Leaving him in just a shirt and shorts, Shea stood, satisfied. Ready to leave.
But guilt pricked her.
She’d taken everything. Wasn’t this robbery?
Shea saw herself as a thief, not a bandit.
Her fading conscience nudged her.
With a sigh, she placed her favorite band-aid on his palm.
See? Not robbery—barter!
He got medical aid; she got riches. Win-win.
Her conscience eased.
"Ugh…"
Waking up?!
Time to bolt!
Shea vanished into the dark. The man stirred awake.
Bewildered, he found himself shirt-clad in this grimy alley.
He patted his body—everything gone. Even his cloak and battle gear.
A faint, sweet scent lingered in the air.
Then he recalled the town’s legend: a white-haired catgirl targeting nobles. They called her Kitty Rico.
Damn it!
I’m Hunter Abel—I’ve never been humiliated like this! Don’t let me catch you, catgirl!
Catch you, and you’re toast!
Abel seethed. First, find safety to heal. Then hunt that cat down.
Standing, he spotted a band-aid in his palm.
Given his wounds, it felt like a taunt.
He slapped it on a cheek cut, teeth gritted.
"You just wait!"
The band-aid felt warm—probably from the catgirl’s pocket.
But why did it smell like milk?
————
"Woohoo! Jackpot!"
Shea sorted the Spatial Ring’s loot. These treasures could cover her month’s needs and debt interest.
Plus, mysterious items: a silver-white pistol, a knife etched with holy circuits, jewels—her eyes sparkled with greed.
This vibrant magic crystal glowed rainbow hues when she touched it, reacting to her mana!
Total windfall!
Still, she felt bad for the unknown guy.
One band-aid for all this wealth? His silent acceptance was oddly touching.
"First, take the cash. Sell the weapons on the black market later."
She fiddled with the crystal. Its glow faded, as if bound to her soul…
"Huh? Soul-bound?!"
Panicked, she checked for side effects. Nothing happened.
"Eh, whatever. I don’t need this tiny crystal’s cash. What else is here?"
Rummaging deeper, she found a strange badge among the weapons.
She pulled it out, stared—and froze.
A Hunter’s badge.
Hunters were shadow-dwellers: assassins, demon-slayers, exorcists. Lone wolves with lethal tracking skills.
Shea rubbed her eyes. Put it back. Pulled it out again.
Yep. A Hunter’s badge.
Oh no. Big trouble.
How did she rob a Hunter?!
Gotta sell everything fast… or face a gruesome end.
Return it? Impossible.
This was her hard-earned loot. Besides, returning it meant not just the Hunter grinding her to dust—
Her debt collector would do it by next month’s first.
