This shop didn’t seem to be doing very well—the location was rather remote, and there were many milk tea shops and an internet café nearby competing for business, leaving the place with only a handful of customers.

The Vault stood outside the glass window for a while, observing something unknown. When her gaze landed on a certain spot, she revealed a faint smile and walked in with steady steps.

She chose a seat by the window, placed her bag on the empty seat beside her, took out a book, crossed her legs, and started flipping through it, as if enjoying a leisurely afternoon.

In front of The Vault sat a young man. He didn’t look very old—most likely still a student—carrying a black backpack, with several shopping bags beside him. He had probably just finished shopping nearby and stopped by the café to use the Wi-Fi.

His side profile was well-defined, and he was actually quite good-looking, but his lack of attention to his appearance—an unsuitable hairstyle and bangs that were too long and unwashed—made him look a bit sloppy, causing people to overlook his features.

The Vault withdrew her gaze and continued flipping through the pages in her hand.

Light streamed in from outside the window, blending with the bright lights inside the shop, making her especially eye-catching on this gloomy, overcast day.

In the comments section, netizens were frantically shouting for her to run. The police had already started searching the commercial street and would soon arrive at the café. The Vault, dressed so conspicuously in traditional clothing and sitting by the window, was bound to attract attention—she was practically exposing herself.

Unfortunately, The Vault couldn’t see their warnings and completely ignored the approaching danger.

Not long after, The Vault stood up and walked over to tap the young man on the shoulder.

He took off his headphones, looked a bit surprised to see her, and asked, “Can I help you?”

The Vault lifted her bag as a gesture and said, “Hi, I need to use the restroom. Could you please watch my things for a moment?”

The young man didn’t suspect anything and readily agreed, “Sure.”

The Vault smiled, “Thank you.”

The Vault left alone, and about six or seven minutes later, she returned to the café, now holding two drinks.

“Thank you.”

The Vault thanked him again and handed over the cup on her left.

“No, no, that’s not necessary,” the young man quickly refused. “I just watched your bag, and no one even came by.”

The Vault said, “There’s a limited-time promotion—buy one, get one free. I saw it and bought it. If you don’t want it, I can’t finish both anyway.”

The young man hesitated for a moment but eventually accepted the drink.

The Vault took the opportunity to sit down across from him and started chatting.

“Hey man, are you a student too? Why are you here alone?”

The young man replied, “What about you? And why are you dressed like that?”

“Just came to buy something. Didn’t feel like changing after a club event, so I came straight here,” The Vault said with a playful smile. “Besides, this gets more attention from girls, right?”

The young man laughed, about to make a joke, but his smile gradually twisted into a look of pain.

He gritted his teeth and hissed, “My stomach hurts a bit.”

“Huh?” The Vault frowned in concern, pulled a box of tissues from her bag, and asked, “Do you need to use the restroom? Is it because your stomach’s sensitive and you drank something cold?”

The young man took the tissues, enduring waves of pain, and said, “Maybe, it’s an old problem.”

The Vault apologized, “Sorry for making you drink something cold.”

“No, no, it’s not your fault.”

The young man stood up, intending to go to the restroom, but The Vault spoke first, “The restroom here is for staff only—they don’t like letting customers use it. I just went to the KFC up front. If you’re not feeling well, you should hurry. I’ll watch your bag.”

The young man didn’t think much of it and nodded, “Okay, thanks.”

Watching him leave in a hurry, The Vault sighed regretfully.

Don’t accept drinks from strangers. You’re an adult and still haven’t learned this lesson.

The Vault stood up and switched to the seat across from where he’d been sitting.

It was really easy to figure out where ordinary guys hid their things. They’d put their ID cards and transit cards in the most convenient spot.

With a casual touch, The Vault found several electronic cards in a side pocket of the backpack. She quickly pulled out the ID card and student card, and, using her long sleeves as cover, slipped them into her own bag.

After stealing his identification, The Vault took out pen and paper and left a note on the table, saying she had to leave suddenly and had left his things at the front desk.

She pressed the note under a cup in the middle of the table, then picked up all the bags and went to the front desk, gave the staff a few instructions, and left first.

A second-generation ID card can still be used after being lost, since its chip isn’t damaged. Although the police can check if it’s reported lost, the process is complicated and they usually don’t bother.

Nowadays, most uses of an ID card are linked to fingerprint or facial recognition, so someone else’s card isn’t very useful, but The Vault happened to need one and would borrow it for now.

·

The Vault left the café and strode toward the exit of the commercial street.

If she could see the live comments, she’d notice the screen was filled with shouts like “Danger!”, “Don’t go any further!”, “The game is about to end!”

Several people in police uniforms were stationed at the intersection, carefully checking pedestrians.

As expected, The Vault ran right into them.

As soon as The Vault appeared, the eyes of two young officers nearby turned to her. They didn’t look particularly suspicious—just attracted by her unusual outfit.

These new players weren’t professionals, but they respected professionalism. They strictly followed Wallace Franklin’s instructions, striving to make sure the basic checks were thorough. Anyone with a similar height would be stopped for an ID check; age and build no longer mattered, since they’d heard so much about the wonders of domestic makeup. They didn’t even let people of different genders go unchecked.

This was the second time The Vault had run into the police head-on. She was mentally prepared, but didn’t expect it to happen so soon. Turning around now would look too suspicious, so she simply stopped at the intersection, looked up at the traffic light, and acted just like any other pedestrian.

One officer took off his hat and walked over to her.

“Hello, do you have your ID card with you?”

The Vault showed just the right amount of surprise, nodded cooperatively, and pulled out the ID card from her pocket to hand over.

She’d spent a long time picking out that person—there was at least a 30% resemblance, which should be enough to get by.

The officer took the card and looked at it carefully. The person in the photo had their hair slicked back, exuding a strong “otaku” vibe, completely different from the radiant person standing before him.

The young officer screamed “What the hell” in his mind, witnessing firsthand the dramatic difference before and after makeup, almost doubting his own eyes. But he remembered his duty, flipped the card back and forth, and scrutinized The Vault’s face inch by inch.

He felt the person in front of him looked strangely familiar, but couldn’t quite say why. Finally, he probed, “This doesn’t really look like you. Is this really your card?”

Despite his question, he still didn’t seem very suspicious.

In most people’s subconscious, fugitives are always down-and-out and gloomy, desperate to blend into the crowd—even if it means being as inconspicuous as a rat in the street. They’d never deliberately stand out, let alone be so flamboyant.

The Vault leaned in, looked at the photo, and said, “How does it not look like me? That’s me! The photo was taken three years ago—who didn’t look like that in high school? Of course I’ve changed in college.”

The officer thought to himself, Well, I didn’t. No matter how many years go by, I’m still the same as I was back then.

He held the ID card up next to The Vault’s face for a close comparison.

The Vault felt uncomfortable under his direct gaze, wrinkled her nose, and pulled back a little.

If he were a professional officer with years of experience, he could spot the differences even from a blurry photo. But this player wasn’t.

Most people, even if they’re not face-blind, aren’t sensitive to facial features. That’s why they often can’t tell internet celebrities apart.

The officer stared at the ID card for so long he started to hallucinate, and eventually saw a surprising amount of overlap between the two.

“This is… complicated, isn’t it?” the officer said uncertainly. “If I say it looks like you, I’d be lying a bit. But if I say it doesn’t, well, it kind of does. The face shape is the same. The mouth is pretty similar. The eyes are impossible to see. Without a side view, it’s hard to say about the nose.”

“That’s what makeup does! Of course it’s me!” The Vault emphasized, putting on a shocked expression. “You’re not going to ask me to take off my makeup right here, are you? That’s too much, man. Don’t even think about it.”

People nearby laughed and spoke up for her: “Some cosplay makeup is really dramatic, otherwise the photos don’t come out well.”

“ID photos are always unflattering. Do you really need to check this strictly?”