Chapter 12: Sneak

Lein’s body was walking toward the harbor.

He knew this route well—he had taken it just yesterday while making a delivery.

But halfway there, his body suddenly turned into a side alley.

Lein’s heart dropped.

This alley led deep into Ash Lane, to a rundown neighborhood that was Sharp Hook Gang territory.

Among those dilapidated blocks stood a seemingly abandoned building that was actually one of their hideouts.

‘Please don’t tell me I’m going there…’

Lein knew plenty about those guys.

Ash Lane had a dozen or so gangs, big and small.

The Sharp Hook Gang weren’t exactly heavy hitters, but they made up for it by being utter scum.

They collected protection fees, mugged lone pedestrians, and encouraged orphans to steal—they had no limits.

Last night, Leo and his men blocking him was proof enough.

Lein had never crossed the Sharp Hook Gang; they had only targeted him to spite the Gray Rat Gang.

And now, step by step, he was walking straight into their lair, without even the ability to resist or hesitate.

The buildings on both sides grew more and more dilapidated.

Cracks in the walls were wide enough to fit an entire finger.

Some roofs had collapsed halfway, exposing blackened rafters.

Broken bricks and garbage littered the ground.

A few rats scurried past the base of the wall, completely ignoring this human who was strolling by.

Even during the day, this area was rarely visited—let alone at dawn.

The light was gray, the morning mist hadn’t fully cleared, and visibility was low.

Lein’s heart sank.

If the Sharp Hook Gang caught him, a severe beating would be the least of his worries.

Those guys had no sense of restraint; breaking an arm or a leg was common.

He wasn’t afraid of fighting, but he had to actually be able to fight back!

His body stopped at the corner of the abandoned building.

It just stood there, completely still.

Lein froze for a moment.

His gaze happened to be scanning the building.

The rundown structure was about a dozen meters away—a two-story brick building with large chunks of lime peeling off the exterior, revealing dark red brick underneath.

The first-floor windows were nailed shut with boards.

A few windows on the second floor still had glass, but they were so dirty they looked like they were covered in gray cloth.

In front of the door were a few broken wooden crates and an overturned iron barrel.

On the ground, there was a dark liquid stain—could have been rainwater or something else.

His body just stood there, motionless.

Lein didn’t understand what this was about.

What was the point of stopping?

Observing?

Waiting?

His body seemed to be confirming something, or waiting for some signal.

All around, it was silent except for the faint, low, and long whistle of a factory siren in the distance.

Then a thought popped into Lein’s mind.

His body had stopped before acting—it was thinking.

That wasn’t right.

If something crude and mindless was controlling him, it should have just charged forward recklessly like before.

But it didn’t.

It stopped.

It observed.

It judged.

It was as if the being controlling him possessed some kind of consciousness, capable of assessing risks before acting.

Just like earlier, when his body suddenly turned around and went in the complete opposite direction.

He couldn’t understand why before.

But now, combined with this brief pause, Lein seemed to understand.

He wasn’t sick.

Something was controlling him, and that something was either a conscious entity or a force with some kind of thought process.

It wasn’t blindly driving his body around—it had its own purpose and plan.

Lein couldn’t tell if this realization comforted him or scared him more.

But he didn’t have time to dwell on it, because his body moved.

It slid out from the shadow of the corner, moving along the base of the wall toward the side of the abandoned building—silently.

His body was crouched low, shoulders almost parallel to the wall, each step making no sound at all.

‘This is… Sneak?’

Lein’s eyes widened, even though he couldn’t control it.

He circled to the side of the building, where there was an inconspicuous little door.

The paint on the door had long since peeled off, leaving only the gray wood underneath.

The door was ajar, showing a two-finger-wide gap.

It didn’t go in immediately.

Instead, it listened.

Lein could hear sounds from behind the door: people talking, voices low and indistinct—he couldn’t make out what they were saying.

There were also sounds of something clinking, probably cups or bottles.

People inside, and more than one.

After waiting for about ten seconds, his body moved.

It slipped through the door crack, moving as lightly as a wisp of smoke.

Behind the door was a dim hallway.

Both sides of the hallway had mottled walls, with a thin layer of dust at the base.

Light showed at the end of the hallway, along with faint shadows moving.

His body didn’t head toward the light.

Instead, it groped along the wall, turning at the first corner into a narrower passage.

This passage was cluttered with junk—broken chairs, a table missing a leg, a few rusty iron barrels.

His body weaved through the debris like a fish swimming between rocks—incredibly agile.

Several times Lein thought he would definitely bump into something, but at the last second, his body adjusted its angle, brushing past obstacles without even snagging his clothes.

At the end of the passage was a staircase.

The stairs were wooden, and they would definitely creak.

His body went up without hesitation, shoes sticking to the steps without a sound.

The second floor had a much simpler layout than the first: a single hallway running the length, with a few doors on each side.

One door was tightly shut, thicker than the others, fitted with an old brass lock.

Without any hesitation, it went straight toward that door.

Lein felt his heartbeat quicken.

He knew what was behind that door—or at least, he could guess.

The Sharp Hook Gang locked their important stuff in this room on the second floor, and his body was about to open it.

He wanted to tell himself to calm down, but there was no point.

His body crouched down, both hands reaching for the lock.

What happened next completely stunned Lein.

His hands gripped the brass lock.

His ten fingers moved in a way he had never seen before.

The thumb and index finger of his left hand held the lock body in place, while his middle and ring fingers probed the bottom of the keyhole.

The thumb of his right hand rotated the lock cylinder, and the other four fingers tapped, pressed, and turned across the lock’s surface at an incredible speed.

The whole process was very fast—only about two to three seconds.

Then, click—the lock opened.

Lein’s mind went blank.

He had lived in Ash Lane for years and knew a thing or two about lockpicking.

But lockpicking required tools!

Wire, picks, or at least something long and thin.

But his body had opened a brass lock with only its ten fingers, using a method he couldn’t even understand.

‘That’s not possible! Could you show me again?’