"Exchanging for the Small Surveillance System Jammer will deduct 750 Amazement Points. Remaining balance: 997 Amazement Points."
As soon as the exchange was confirmed, a small object appeared out of thin air in front of Dean, floating steadily on a transparent virtual disk, waiting to be collected.
The jammer was cylindrical, about the length of a solid-state drive. Its surface was completely matte black, simple and practical. At the top was a single power button. In the middle were two indicator lights—one green and one red.
Green light: Normal operation
Red light: A surveillance device within fifteen meters uses technology beyond standard Earth-level systems
Dean reached out and picked it up. The moment his fingers closed around it, the virtual disk vanished instantly, as if it had never existed.
"Finally," Dean exhaled softly, "I can get some proper rest."
He rolled his shoulders, feeling a dull ache spread through his muscles.
Today had been exhausting.
Not only had he completed a full Kaito Kid operation, but he had also spent hours working undercover in the hotel kitchen as the intern 'Tom.'
Although Dean cooked for himself regularly, working in a large hotel kitchen was an entirely different kind of torture.
The physical fatigue was one thing—but the mental exhaustion was worse. The pressure, the noise, the constant orders, and the feeling of being just another replaceable cog all weighed heavily on him.
Ironically, when he practiced high-difficulty magic tricks, he often used far more physical strength, yet his mind felt light and focused.
This kind of tiredness was different.
It was the exhaustion of both body and spirit.
And when he thought about going back to school on Monday, the fatigue doubled.
"Sometimes I really want to drop out of Gotham Private High and transfer to Phelps Public High," Dean muttered lazily.
Then he snorted.
"Forget it. Not even Solomon Grundy would send his kids there… if he had any."
With those pointless thoughts drifting through his mind, Dean collapsed onto his bed.
And very soon, he fell into a deep sleep.
---
Meanwhile…
At the Iceberg Lounge.
Ogilvy and his subordinates carried the sniper's body into a hidden underground chamber—a secret disposal room personally maintained by Penguin.
Whether it was disobedient subordinates or inconvenient enemies, this was where they all ended up.
In Gotham, actual murder cases were far rarer than outsiders imagined.
Disappearances, however?
They were everywhere.
For example, gang shootouts happened almost every night—sometimes in the East End, sometimes in Burnley. The location didn't matter.
What mattered was that when GCPD arrived the next morning, the streets would be clean.
No bodies.
No shell casings.
No torn flesh.
Just a few broken windows and scattered trash.
So the question was—did nobody die?
Or were the gunshots only hallucinations shared by the residents?
No one knew.
And no one dared to ask.
Unless someone was brave—or stupid—enough to call the police during the shootout itself.
That was why Gotham wasn't called the City of Crime because of visible death.
It earned that name because every inch of the city hid evils beyond ordinary imagination.
If there were a city where every type of human crime converged, and each had a mature, industrial-scale operation behind it—
That city would be Gotham.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Someone knocked on the office door.
Penguin, who was reviewing the income reports from his various businesses, lifted his head slightly and gestured with his eyes.
Two tall, burly bodyguards opened the door.
Ogilvy walked in.
His face was grim.
"Boss," Ogilvy said, lowering his head, shame evident in his voice, "something went wrong at the auction."
Penguin didn't react immediately. He continued flipping through the accounts.
"Did Kaito Kid steal the diamond?" Penguin asked calmly. "Or did he realize it was fake? Or…"
He paused.
"…did you let him escape?"
Ogilvy's report clearly hadn't reached the Iceberg Lounge yet, so Penguin still didn't know the full situation.
Penguin closed one ledger and spoke casually.
"If it's just a fake diamond scandal, let Grayle Tartard hold a press conference. Say he didn't know the diamond was fake when he acquired it. Spend some money, buy off a few reporters, and guide public opinion."
He leaned back slightly.
"After things cool down, we'll design a new laundering method. As for Roman—who needs clean money—he can wait. This time was our mistake, so we'll take five percent less commission."
"Boss…" Ogilvy hesitated, then spoke carefully.
"It's not that simple."
Penguin finally looked up.
"Our cover has been completely exposed," Ogilvy said, his voice tight. "Kaito Kid and Vicki Vale exposed the money laundering operation. Lack and Grayle Tartard were both arrested by the police."
He swallowed.
"And… one of the two snipers I brought with me was killed—by Kaito Kid."
The room went cold.
Penguin's eyes sharpened as he stared directly at Ogilvy.
"What happened," he said slowly, "from beginning to end."
Ogilvy immediately explained everything—step by step.
"…I thought sending Lack and Grayle Tartard to the auction would be enough," Ogilvy finished with a heavy sigh. "I only planned to ambush Kaito Kid outside. I never expected things to spiral this far."
He shook his head bitterly.
"I even called Sister Lack during the auction and reminded her not to act impulsively… but in the end—"
"Kaito Kid…"
"Vicki Vale…"
Penguin repeated the two names quietly.
Then he suddenly asked, "You were outside the hotel. How do you know exactly what happened inside?"
Ogilvy's heart skipped a beat.
Penguin really wasn't easy to fool.
But Ogilvy had already prepared his explanation.
"Boss," he said calmly, "you know Sister Lack and Grayle Tartard never liked me. They're veterans, while I only earned your trust in the past two years. I was worried they wouldn't follow orders."
He forced a bitter smile.
"So I placed listening devices inside the auction hall beforehand, just in case something went wrong. It wasn't distrust—just caution."
Penguin stared at him silently.
There were no obvious flaws in Ogilvy's explanation.
And it was true—Lack had openly shown contempt for Ogilvy before.
"Hmph," Penguin finally snorted.
"It seems some people have forgotten whose city Gotham is."
He reached for his phone.
"Someone actually dared to ruin my business."
Penguin dialed a number.
"Issue a bounty."
"Five hundred thousand dollars—for Kaito Kid's head."
Five hundred thousand dollars.
To outsiders, it might not sound like much.
But in Gotham's underworld?
It was a massive prize.
Lives here were cheap.
An adult man: ten thousand
An adult woman: twenty thousand
A minor: thirty thousand
That was the standard rate for professional assassins.
Some were even cheaper, just to secure work.
Hell—give a homeless man twenty dollars, and you could get him to stab someone in broad daylight.
And now—
Kaito Kid was worth five hundred thousand.
-----------------------------
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