1:25 PM
Paris, France.
It was just as they said—Paris, the city that never slept.
On average, over forty million tourists from around the world passed through its streets each day.
Some called it a global crossroads of culture, a sanctuary of art and beauty. A place where history and elegance intertwined.
But those charming descriptions couldn't erase a more sobering truth: this tourist haven was also home to thriving scam communities—organized rings of petty criminals.
Some worked alone, some in teams. Many were shockingly creative in their methods of scamming wide-eyed visitors. The kinds of tricks you couldn't imagine until you saw them play out.
Wearing expensive clothes while strolling around here was like throwing bread into a pond full of ravenous fish.
And if you realized you'd been pickpocketed or conned, don't bother trying to report it—unless you happened to be someone famous. The authorities wouldn't lift a finger.
Forty million people. If just one scam per person averaged ten baht, that was already four hundred million gone in a day. And yet, despite the risk, people kept coming—risking it all for a taste of Paris.
Today was no exception.
The city bustled with life. Tourists crammed the streets—some snapping selfies, others relaxing at sidewalk cafés. Traffic officers tried their best to keep things flowing.
And in the shadows, unseen but very much present, eyes watched… searching for their next mark.
"Hmm~... hmmm hmm hmm..."
Three children—two girls and a boy—sat huddled together in thick black coats, looking for all the world like normal locals. They were crouched near a stone wall, staring out at the sea of tourists gathering around the Eiffel Tower that loomed large in the background.
"Hey hey… that's enough, Misha. I'm getting sick of your humming already."
One of the girls turned to the orange-haired girl beside her.
Misha stopped humming and pulled the hood down from her head, revealing short, choppy hair and her distinct mismatched eyes.
"There. How about that one?"
The only boy in the group, Niccolò, pointed toward a cluster of flashy Chinese tourists. Loud, decked out in vibrant designer gear, caps tilted at precise forty-five-degree angles. They were lounging in a small park near the Eiffel Tower.
"Chinese, huh? Not bad…"
Misha observed quietly.
"But they're a little too flashy. Pick someone who looks more low-key."
"Hah! What—afraid of bling now?" Chacha teased.
"Yeah. You'd be too if you almost got in deep trouble... How was I supposed to know the guy was a celebrity? I thought he was just another rich jerk showing off… Took every ounce of puppy-eyed charm I had to get out of it."
"Bet you won't forget that anytime soon."
"Not a chance."
"What about that pair?"
Niccolò pointed again—this time toward an elderly couple, casually dressed and snapping pictures of each other.
"Old folks? Really?" Chacha asked, unconvinced.
"Probably out here blowing their retirement funds," Niccolò replied.
Misha tilted her head thoughtfully. "Hmm... not bad. Let's do it."
Once Misha gave the green light, all three nodded in sync and went to work.
The elderly couple stood just beneath the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, holding hands and smiling at each other as they posed for pictures.
"Thank you so much," said the grandmother politely.
"No problem at all," replied the man who'd helped them take the photo, handing back their phone and walking off.
"You look beautiful in that one," the old man said warmly.
The woman chuckled—but then they both turned as a sound came from behind.
"Uuh…"
It was soft, shaky. The kind of whimper that warned of incoming tears.
Behind them stood a young girl with orange hair tucked beneath a dark coat, hands covering her face as she sniffled.
"Snff… H-hic…"
"Oh, sweetheart… what's wrong?" the old woman asked, leaning forward and placing a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder.
"M-my… mom… and dad…"
"Did you get lost, honey?"
Misha nodded, red-nosed and teary-eyed. The old couple exchanged a glance and both nodded back.
"There, there… don't cry. We'll help you find them, okay? It's alright, dear…"
Misha sniffled and gave a small nod when the woman patted her head gently.
"Waaaah!"
She wailed, then threw herself into the woman's arms. In that moment, her green eye began to glow faintly.
"Come now. Take my hand—we'll go find the police together, alright?"
"O-okay…"
Misha wiped her face and slipped her small hand into the old woman's. Just then, two other kids—one girl, one boy—came racing down the path, giggling loudly as if playing tag.
"Can't catch me—waaah!"
"I won't let you get away!"
"Ha! Ah—oops!"
Chacha crashed right into the old man. Niccolò skidded to a halt just in front of them.
Chacha hit the pavement face-first, prompting the man to bend down in concern.
"Miss?!"
"Oww…"
Chacha sat up slowly with the old man's help.
"S-sorry, sir…"
"It's alright. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine! Totally fine!"
The man smiled, reassured.
"Geez, Chacha…" Niccolò scolded. Then both kids bowed deeply in apology before running off, laughing and shouting as they resumed their game.
Misha walked a bit further with the elderly couple, then suddenly pointed into a crowd.
"There! That's my dad!"
"Huh? That's your father, dear?"
"Mm-hmm!"
She grinned wide, brimming with joy, and started to dash away.
"Thanks so much!"
She waved goodbye, cheerful and radiant, then disappeared into the crowd.
"…Huh? I thought her dad was that guy with the glasses," the old man said, confused.
"So did I…"
—
Across the street, Misha emerged from the park with a victorious glint in her eye.
Niccolò and Chacha were already waiting near a streetlamp. When they saw her, all three broke into knowing smirks.
"What'd you get?" Niccolò asked.
Misha didn't answer. She simply held up an old lady's wallet and passport.
"You guys?"
"Three thousand in here." Chacha waved the bills in the air.
They giggled, satisfied, then started walking off together to find something to eat.
"Again?! How come you always score the biggest haul? Got any tips for us?" Chacha asked, not even sounding annoyed—just amazed.
Group rules stated that all take must be split evenly between the three. But Misha always brought in the biggest catch. It was like she knew where people hid their valuables.
It happened way too often to be luck. Even when a tourist looked rich and worth the effort, Misha would sometimes stop them. "Don't bother. He's all style, no substance—bet he's got twenty baht max in his pocket. Not worth the risk."
And she was always right.
So it was only natural that Misha became the group's unofficial leader, deciding which targets to pursue. Her hit rate was the highest—by far.
"Guess I'm just lucky," she said with a shrug.
But the truth?
Misha was lucky that neither Niccolò nor Chacha had the "gift." If they did, they'd have seen it by now.
The faint green shimmer. The soft orange aura that danced around her.
No one could "see it." And Misha had no intention of telling anyone—not even Niccolò or Chacha.
She glanced upward… to the golden eye symbol glowing faintly above her head.
Then, with a thought, she dismissed it, pulling the aura back into herself.
"Come on," she said.
"Mm," the others replied, following close behind.
Chomp chomp chomp chomp chomp chomp
Fizzy soda slurp
BURP!
"Ugh! Gross!"
Chacha smacked Niccolò's arm and covered her nose from the burp cloud.
The kids sat by the fountain, not far from their last spot, feasting on sandwiches they'd just bought with the stolen money.
"Ahh~ So good~"
Misha grinned, pure bliss on her face.
"Keep your eyes peeled. If that old couple comes back and spots us, we're screwed."
"Yeah yeah, I know."
Misha took another bite. "Once we're done, let's go find our next mark."
"What mark?"
A fourth voice chimed in behind them.
Instantly, Chacha and Niccolò's eyes went wide in shock—and fear.
Even Misha jolted. She slowly turned her head, only to see a group of older teens—four of them. Three guys and one girl. At least four years older than the trio.
And Misha recognized them immediately.
They were one of the other "pickpocket crews" that operated in this area of Paris.
And they weren't here to be friendly. That much was obvious. Misha's crew was made up of the youngest street kids around. Easy prey.
"So? How much did you make today, huh?"
The teen girl strolled up and plopped down next to Misha, while the three boys moved to surround them.
All three kids looked visibly nervous. Not only were these teens bigger and stronger—they'd shown up in full force.
"Come on, Misha. I asked you something. How much today?"
The girl reached over and took the sandwich right out of Misha's hands, munching on it casually.
"N-Not much…"
"You sure?"
One of the bigger guys loomed behind her, voice low and threatening. Misha flinched.
Crap... We're screwed. Why the hell are they even in our zone?!
"Mmm... beef sandwich, huh? That's gotta be at least two hundred."
The teen girl snatched Misha's Sprite and took a swig.
Too lazy to steal themselves, so they shake down people smaller than them... scum...
"So what's the total haul?" she asked, that nasty little smile playing at her lips.
With no other choice, the kids slowly pulled out the money and passports they'd stolen and handed them over.
Niccolò and Chacha did the same.
It was the only way to avoid a beating.
"Wow… over 5,000? And a passport too?"
"Got anything else?"
"…No."
"You sure about that?"
The older kids didn't wait for an answer.
They lunged in and ripped off the kids' coats, shaking them down for anything they might be hiding.
Niccolò was thrown into a nearby tree.
Chacha was shoved to the ground, arms pinned behind her back.
Misha was forced down onto a wooden bench, a heavy arm clamping her in place.
Every last hidden coin—tucked in boots, coat pockets, wherever—was found and taken.
"Why's it always gotta come to this, huh?"
The older girl wiped her hands and stood, finishing off the last bite of Misha's sandwich.
"Let's go."
At her command, the boys let go of the kids.
But Chacha, burning with rage, wasn't done.
"You pieces of crap! Can't steal yourselves so you pick on little kids?! Bunch of cowards! Go to hell!"
One of the huge teens grabbed her by the collar immediately.
"And what are you gonna do, huh? Call the cops, little girl?"
He sneered, then tossed her back against the same tree.
"Brat…"
They sauntered off, back toward their own territory.
Misha was still shaking. Niccolò hurried over to help Chacha sit up.
"…Let's just go," he said quietly.
Misha nodded. She had no choice but to accept the reality they lived in.
If you wanted to survive this life… you had to learn how to take the hits.
Because if you didn't… you'd die like a stray dog in the street.
Still, it was better than the place Misha had run away from.
A hundred times better.
She would never go back there.
"Those assholes… we're never coming here again…" Chacha muttered bitterly.
"Even if we run, they'll just follow us to wherever we go."
"Still better than being their ATM."
"Let it go," Misha said flatly.
"Let's just find another mark."
The other two lowered their heads and nodded.
No choice but to play the game again.
Crowds swarmed beneath the Eiffel Tower.
The three kids now sat much closer than before, scouting potential targets.
Niccolò's eyes locked onto a lone tourist girl.
She wore a sleek black dress, matching black hat, and dark sunglasses. A white Chanel purse hung on her shoulder. Her long hair was a striking mix of pink and green, and she strolled casually through the garden while thumbing her phone.
Niccolò couldn't take his eyes off her. Something about her set his pulse racing.
But work came first.
Still staring, he nudged Chacha with his elbow.
"That one…"
Even Chacha was stunned by how expensive the girl looked.
She wasn't flashy. She was elegant.
There's a difference.
Looking flashy didn't always mean looking rich. And looking rich didn't have to mean flashy.
This girl? She radiated money. Not just in her clothes or accessories—but in how she carried herself.
"You serious?" Misha asked.
She gave the woman a once-over—then twice.
She was rich.
An orange aura rippled from Misha's body. Her green eye glowed faintly, and the golden eye symbol appeared above her head.
In that moment, Misha didn't see what normal people saw.
She saw the assets hidden inside that woman's pockets—clearly, precisely.
"Niccolò…"
"What?"
"If we hit this one… we can forget about the five thousand we lost earlier."
"Y-You mean it?!"
"But… don't move yet. She might be famous. Might have bodyguards around… We should watch her a little longer. Just in case."
"…Alright. If you say so."