Lucky God System

Chapter 3: The Professional Gets Tricked by Another Professional

"I'm going to stop by the police station, see if there's any progress. I'll see you guys tomorrow," Elias said, waving as he split off from his friends.

Both Mina and Syler waved back as he disappeared down the street.

Mina grinned and threw an arm around Syler's neck. "Boo. Just me and you, huh? Let's hit the game shop without him, Sy! He shall regret ditching us!"

Syler blinked, caught off guard, as he was helplessly dragged away by Mina's enthusiasm.

Several meters away, the man in dark clothing peeked around the corner.

"That damn kid is nothing but trouble. First he's hanging out with her, and now he's headed to the police station? And his sister's cozying up to another well-known member of that group right now..." he muttered, clearly irritated. He ran a hand through his greasy, unkempt hair and sighed. "It really isn't my day."

Still, he followed from a distance, eyes narrowing as he waited for the right moment to strike.

---

Elias quickly made his way into the police station. Many officers observed him briefly before returning to chatting or working. Elias had been coming several times over the last few days, so they had become a little familiar with him. They knew he was there for Clifford and quickly pointed toward the cubicle area. Elias headed to the front cubicles, where he spotted a familiar figure.

Officer Clifford, a middle-aged man with dark skin and short, graying tight curls, was buried in paperwork, absently sipping coffee as he worked. He leaned back in his chair, reading a report with such focus that he didn't notice the small droplets of coffee clinging to his mustache.

As Elias stepped closer, Clifford glanced up and broke into a warm smile.

"Hey there, Elias. Here for an update? I really hate to disappoint you, but there haven't been any new clues since yesterday," he said, sighing sympathetically as he set his report and coffee aside.

Elias nodded, then subtly pointed to his own upper lip.

Clifford blinked, then chuckled sheepishly and wiped the coffee off his mustache.

"Would—" Elias hesitated. "Would it be okay if I stayed and did some homework? I know you don't have anything new, but my sister's not home… I really don't want to go back to an empty house," he said, rubbing his fingers together.

Clifford's eyes softened. Mature or not, the boy was still just a kid.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you need, kid. Just don't cause any trouble, alright? This is still a police station," he said with a touch of sternness.

Elias nodded silently and took a seat on an empty bench near Clifford's desk, pulling out his homework.

For the next hour, Elias worked quietly on the large stack of assignments. He wasn't as smart or diligent as his sister, so he was already getting bored and frustrated. He didn't even make it a quarter of the way through before shoving the papers back into his folder and stuffing them into his backpack. His teachers had said he had a week to turn them in, so he wasn't too worried.

He dug out his phone and noticed a text from Eve:

 The principal invited me to dinner at her place. Sorry, bro, but I don't think I can partake in your dark cuisine tonight 🙏 She said she'll drop me off when we're done, so don't wait for me.

Elias sighed. What should he do while she was away?

He began scrolling through his phone and opened his photo gallery to look at pictures of their parents. He really missed them. He stared at each one as if trying to burn their image into his mind. Then, he came across an old photo of himself standing with his father inside a shop filled with old history books and relics.

He paused.

His father, Harold Graves, had been an antique enthusiast. When Elias was younger, his dad ran a small antique shop. While the shop was still technically his father's, it had been out of business for nearly five years. These days, it mostly served as a storage space for his father's personal collection of antiques and trinkets.

He had completely forgotten about the place. He hadn't visited in years—and with his parents missing, why would it have crossed his mind?

Elias's mind jolted. Hold on. What if there's a clue my dad left behind?

He dug through his bag for his keys and found the one for his father's shop. His eyes sparkled with a flicker of excitement and hope—something he hadn't felt in days.

For a second, he even considered kissing the key, but thankfully restrained himself. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he stood up, energized by sudden purpose.

"See you around, Officer!" Elias called out as he walked off with quick, eager steps.

Clifford barely had time to look up. "Wait, what—?" But Elias had already disappeared from the station.

Clifford scratched his nose awkwardly before sighing. "He really just came and went, huh?" he muttered, then turned back to his growing stack of documents.

Now alone, he unlocked his desk drawer and slid the completed reports inside. The pending pile looked a little less overwhelming. He pulled the next file from the top and opened it.

As he read through the contents, his expression darkened.

"Fifteen missing persons, all found murdered… and the scene looked like some kind of occult ritual you see in movies?" Clifford muttered, brow furrowing. "No leads. No suspects."

He let out a heavy sigh, dragging a hand down his face. "How'd we get something so gruesome?" His face wrinkled into an ugly grimace.

---

While Elias exited the station, the man in dark clothing remained close behind, watching from the shadows.

"Finally," he muttered, flicking away the cigarette he'd been nursing. "The brat's out. If I follow him far enough from the station, I might be able to grab him."

Despite his growing impatience, he held back. He'd noticed something odd—Elias wasn't heading home or back to school.

"Where's he going?" the man murmured. Then, a thought struck him. His eyes lit up with excitement. "Maybe… maybe the kid's leading me to the target item."

With that hopeful idea, he postponed his plan to snatch the boy—for now.

Elias, blissfully unaware of the danger shadowing his steps, walked on without a care.

---

A few minutes later, Elias entered a bustling commercial district. The streets were crowded with people shopping or grabbing early dinners. The air was rich with the scents of cinnamon-dusted pretzels, fresh flowers, and cheap Chinese food. The sound of a violin drifted through the air from a nearby street performer.

Though a few things had changed since his childhood, the place still brought a faint sense of nostalgia.

He found the shop quickly. His father's old antique store was tucked between a small bookstore and an aging tea shop, its windows boarded up and the wooden sign long gone.

Honestly, the place could've been sold for a fortune—the district had grown lively and expensive—but his father had refused to give it up. Now, it functioned as a private storage space for his beloved collection of antiques and trinkets.

Elias pulled out his keys, found the one for his father's antique shop, and slipped inside. He locked the door behind him—just in case any curious shoppers mistook it for a hidden gem.

Outside, the man in dark clothes nearly rubbed his hands together with glee. "This boy just handed me a gift," he muttered. "Maybe the item is inside that shop!"

He was practically buzzing with anticipation. He even wanted to jump and click his heels—but as a self-proclaimed professional (and manly adult), he would never allow such a thing.

Unbeknownst to him, another pair of eyes in the crowd was watching. Normally, he would've noticed—but after a frustrating day of no progress, his instincts had dulled.

Just as he stepped from the crowd, ready to make his move—

Wham!

He slammed into someone.

"Aaagh!" a voice wailed.

He looked down. A frail-looking old woman lay sprawled on the pavement, limbs flailing like she'd just been struck by lightning.

"Ah! My arm! My hip! My leg!" she shrieked, grabbing each part in turn. Her wrinkled face was a mess of tears, snot, and exaggerated agony.

The man in dark clothes froze, caught mid-step.

A crowd quickly gathered.

"The one day my grandson couldn't come with me, and this happens," the old woman cried. "Just my luck…"

Murmurs began.

The man's scowl deepened. No way he could grab Elias now—not with all these eyes on him.

Among the onlookers, a young man's heart cracked with sympathy. She reminded him of his grandma. When he noticed the stranger still standing there silently, he snapped.

"At least apologize, you scumbag!" the young man barked.

The man's jaw clenched. He wanted to strangle everyone. But this was public. He was undercover. Killing witnesses wasn't subtle.

And apologize? Since when had he ever needed to apologize?

The young man bent down to help—but she wailed louder.

"I-I think my hip's broken," she whimpered.

"I can take you to the hospital, ma'am."

"But I didn't bring much today… My grandson wasn't home, so I only brought enough cash for groceries…" She held up a squished bag of vegetables with trembling hands.

The young man clenched his jaw. "Really now?" He turned to the man, fury in his eyes. "Hey! If you're not going to say sorry, the least you can do is pay compensation!"

More gently, he turned to the woman. "Don't worry, ma'am. I'll make sure you get compensated."

The old lady wept in gratitude. "Bless you, young man… bless you…"

Meanwhile, the man was silently fuming.

'This has got to be a scam. This is really not my day.'

And he was absolutely right.

The old lady? A professional scammer. She didn't even have a son—so how could she have a grandson? She'd never so much as dated a man. Raised by a gambling father who once tried to sell her off as a child bride, she lived by a simple philosophy: men were the world's biggest scam. That belief kept her from ever trusting one with her life—or her body. The key to being the best con artist? Never let yourself get conned.

Today, she was doing her usual rounds—scanning for either gullible or wealthy victims. The moment she saw him, she knew: this guy was loaded.

That "discreet" jacket? Hermes. The watch? A limited edition Patek Philippe worth over $70,000. He screamed money to her seasoned eyes.

'No way I'm letting this cash cow pass me by', she thought.

"Keep it up, my new second-hand grandson," she mentally cheered, flashing an internal thumbs-up to the young man still defending her.