The Art of Stealing

The air inside the underground hideout was thick with the scent of cheap liquor, sweat, and burning oil. The wooden walls creaked under the force of the wind howling outside, a constant reminder that, beneath all their power, the Reyin Gang was still buried beneath the city they sought to control.

Nikey sat in the farthest corner, back against the cold wall, fingers pressed lightly into his arms. He kept his breathing slow, his body still.

Yet inside—

His heartbeat pounded against his ribs.

The night before still clung to his skin.

The apple. The women. Hibiki’s voice telling him to "enjoy it."

He had eaten until his stomach was full. He had surrendered to pleasure, warmth, and something he didn’t understand.

But now?

Now, something inside him ached.

Was this happiness?

The thought disgusted him.

The truth settled in his bones. Happiness doesn’t exist here. There is only control. And he was still learning who controlled who.

THUD.

A heavy bottle slammed onto the wooden table, shaking the scattered coins and leftover scraps of food.

Laughter erupted. The gang’s voices bounced off the walls, rough and wild, fueled by alcohol and victory.

Nikey didn’t flinch. But he was aware—always aware.

A burly man with a thick scar along his jaw leaned forward, tapping a sharp knife against the wood. His grin was too wide, too forced, like he wanted to see Nikey react.

"You're awfully quiet, kid. What’s your deal?"

Nikey remained still.

His fingers subtly tightened around his wrist. His face was unreadable, but something behind his hollow eyes shifted.

The air grew heavier.

Jin, a thin man with a hungry gaze, smirked.

"Maybe he's still scared," he sneered, swirling his sake before taking a long sip. "You sure you got the guts for this life, brat?"

Nikey didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

At the head of the table, Hibiki sat relaxed, his fingers tapping slowly, rhythmically, against the wood. The only sound in the room now.

Then, he spoke.

"Let’s find out."

Something small flew through the air.

Nikey caught it instinctively.

An earpiece.

Hibiki smirked. "Put that on. Let’s see if you’re worth keeping."

The marketplace was alive, a relentless tide of voices, movement, and opportunity.

The air was thick with the scent of spices, fresh bread, and sweat. Merchants barked out prices, customers haggled, coins jingled in pouches, and the occasional burst of laughter broke through the chaotic rhythm.

Nikey moved through the crowd, the earpiece snug in his ear.

His heart pounded beneath his ribs, but his expression remained unreadable.

The target was a wealthy merchant.

Dressed in fine silk robes, he carried himself like a man who knew he was untouchable. A heavy pouch of money swung lazily from his belt, each step taunting the crowd. Two guards flanked him, their eyes sharp, scanning every movement.

Hibiki’s voice crackled through the earpiece—calm, controlled.

"Move slow. Blend in. The target is five meters ahead. Don’t rush."

Nikey adjusted his pace, breathing steady. His fingers twitched slightly.

Hibiki: "Breathe in. Stay loose. Don’t look at the pouch. Let your hands work by instinct."

The guards shifted. The merchant turned slightly.

Nikey moved.

One fluid motion.

His fingers brushed against the pouch’s strap. The blade slipped beneath the knot—a silent cut.

The pouch vanished into his sleeve.

Jin’s voice whispered through the earpiece.

"Damn. Not bad."

Nikey exhaled slowly, stepping away. Clean. Flawless.

For a second, his pulse slowed.

Then—

A loud crash.

Nikey’s eyes snapped to the side.

A woman had dropped a basket of apples.

One rolled toward his foot.

A guard glanced in his direction.

His breath hitched.

The sound of the apple hitting the ground echoed louder in his mind than it should have.

The earpiece was silent.

No instructions. No guidance.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

His fingers twitched. His throat felt dry.

Think. Think fast.

He bent down casually, picking up the apple.

Then, he tossed it back to the woman—smoothly, naturally.

"Here, miss. You dropped this."

The guard’s eyes lingered for a second too long.

Then—he turned away.

The tension evaporated.

A moment later, Hibiki’s voice crackled through the earpiece—

"...Not bad, kid."

The hideout was louder than usual.

Laughter. Voices. A pouch of money sat on the table in front of Nikey.

Unopened.

A rough slap hit Nikey’s back.

"Well, shit. Looks like the rat can dance!" Jin grinned, flashing his teeth.

Nikey stayed silent.

Across from him, Akane—cold eyes, arms folded—watched him carefully.

Skeptical. Unimpressed.

"Luck." Her voice was clipped. "Let’s see if you can do it again."

Without warning, she grabbed his wrist.

Nikey’s body tensed.

"Your grip was too tight," she muttered. "You almost pulled too hard. If the merchant had been paying attention, he would’ve felt it."

She demonstrated—her fingers barely brushed against Jin’s belt.

The pouch was gone before anyone noticed.

She held it up with a smirk.

"See? Loose fingers. No sudden tugs. Pickpocketing is an art, kid. You? You’re still an amateur."

Nikey’s jaw tightened.

Hibiki leaned forward, his grin sharp and calculating.

"You’ve got instincts. But instincts won’t be enough for the next job."

Nikey’s fingers tapped the wooden table.

He wasn’t thinking about escape anymore.

Now—

He was thinking about what was next.

"If I’m here…" His eyes darkened. "I might as well win."

Hibiki smirked.

A blueprint map hit the table.

"Next test"

"You rob a vault."

Silence.

The gang stared at Nikey, waiting.

His fingers twitched.

His throat felt dry.

"...Isn’t it wrong?" The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them.

The room shifted.

Not in rage, not in offense—but in amusement.

Jin chuckled, shaking his head. "Here we go."

Tanjiro leaned forward, arms crossed over his massive chest. "Wrong? What part?"

Nikey’s jaw clenched. "Stealing."

Another laugh, this time from Akane. "And what’s wrong with that?" Her voice was cool, challenging. "We’re not stealing from the weak. We take from those who have too much."

Jin tilted his head, flipping a gold coin between his fingers.

"Tell me, kid. If someone drops money on the street and you pick it up, is that stealing?"

Nikey hesitated. "...No."

Jin smirked. "Then what if someone is hoarding mountains of money they don’t even need, while kids like you starve in the gutters? And we just… pick it up?"

"Doesn’t that make it ours?"

The logic twisted inside Nikey’s mind.

Hibiki finally spoke, his voice smooth, dangerous.

"Stealing is an art."

The gang fell silent.

All eyes turned to Hibiki as he leaned back, exhaling a slow stream of smoke from his pipe.

"Anyone can use force. Any idiot can point a blade at someone and demand their wallet. But to steal?" He smiled, tapping his temple. "That takes skill. Intelligence. Precision."

His gaze locked onto Nikey, piercing.

"And most importantly?"

A flicker of something darker danced in his expression.

"It’s survival."

The words hit deeper than Nikey expected.

Hunger was survival. Strength was survival.

Then… was stealing just another kind of survival too?

The silence stretched.

Then—Jin grinned, throwing an arm over Nikey’s shoulder.

"So, brat? You in, or do you wanna go back to starving?"

Nikey didn’t hesitate this time.

His fingers curled into a fist.

His pulse pounded—not from fear, but something else.

He exhaled sharply.

Then, with a slow, deliberate nod—

"Here I am. Doing this. No matter what."

The gang cheered, bottles slammed onto the table, voices rising in excitement.

Hibiki just smiled.

The rat was finally one of them.