ʟᴜᴘɪɴ│ᴛᴋ [complete]

.5. ɪɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴏɴᴇ ᴍᴀɴ's ᴛʀᴀsʜ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇs ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴍᴀɴ's ᴛʀᴇᴀsᴜʀᴇ

Arthur L. Gibson, senior reporter at the Thames Herald, let out a loud growl before crumpling a note and rushing into the editor-in-chief's office to vehemently complain about the lack of respect he was getting around here and how, after all these years of writing for the prestigious London newspaper and covering some of the century's most historic events (like the theft of Big Ben's hour hand by a Swiss clockmaker, or the disappearance of Buckingham Palace's honey bees—which led to a never-seen-before spike of royal honey's stock prices), he deserved better than these silly pranks.

"What's going on?" Park Jimin, the young apprentice looking for an opportunity to show off his reporting skills, didn't wait for Gibson to finish his rant before scooting over to the elder's desk and grabbing the crumbled piece of paper that seemed to have triggered it all.

—

After more than forty years of good and loyal service to this newspaper, you deserve a break.

Here are tickets to go see the Jolly Monkey Circus, in town for just a few days.

And if you get a story out of this event, then I shall reckon my investment in your entertainment to have been worth it.

Yours truly,

A. Lupin

—

Jimin tried hard to suppress the laughter that was about to spill out of his tightly shut mouth. You see, he was well aware of Gibson's reputation of being able to find stories behind every minor news item. Sure, many were blown up out of proportion, but readers enjoyed his accounts of seemingly trivial incidents and his talent for turning the most random clue into an epic investigation.

The signature was off though. Lupin was dead. Everyone knew that. Or at least, everyone assumed it. What was the point of impersonating the late gentleman thief?

"What do you want?"

The voice startled him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snoop around."

"Then get back to work. I'm sure there are plenty of stories out there that need covering."

"Yes, of course. But may I just ask whether or not you intend to go?"

"Go where?"

"To see the circus?"

Gibson growled again before throwing the tickets in the bin. "Does that answer your question? Now shoo."

Jimin returned to his desk with the intention of retrieving the tickets before the end of the day. Even if he was not going to be able to squeeze a story out of a circus performance, he didn't want to miss out on the chance to take his 10-year-old niece out.

—

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