Marinette is so done.

The nerve of that tourist to accuse her of pickpocketing! She’s a mess—her clothes are disheveled, and she hasn’t showered in two days. Groggy, her sweatpants and thoughts are in disarray.

A teen, her age, collided with her. It didn’t bother her. She said sorry and returned to her destination—until the man grabbed her and accused her of theft.

“Thief, return my phone!”

He, incidentally, is American. Olive-colored skin. The outfit he has on black sleeveless turtleneck, cargo pants , brushed up hair, Possessing captivating green eyes. She’s mesmerized.

And Kwami forgave her; she was acting on instinct. Her kleptomania took over. She unintentionally took his phone.

What would she do? She has it in her purse.
Ugh. Insomnia is the worst, and only coffee made her alert.

I’m going to wind up in jail. Again.

She contemplated an escape from her predicament. His eyes narrowed in a menacing way, yet his intense gaze found nothing.

He grab her hoodie and checked her pockets.

His forceful grabbing of her arms, body search, and inappropriate touching left her violated and enraged;

In anger, she performed a judo chop on the individual.

He was vigilant, tumbled, and regained his footing. Now her opinion changed—this guy is dangerous. She moved a few steps apart from the man.

“You had no right to touch me, Monsieur,” she insisted.

Blue and jade eyes glared intensely at each other. In her plight, Marinette’s angry lips quivered. A million thoughts racing, she panicked—and fled.
Because Kwami forgives her, she’ll escape.

“Oi, get back here, thief!” he roared.

Furious, she runs. But the phone is in her purse.
Oh crap.
She had no intention of returning it to him. The jerk.

She’s running down the streets. Marinette was familiar with the place—a location somehow ingrained in her memory. She’s figuring out how to get rid of him as quickly as possible. The market stalls of Paris. Right now, there’s a new event centered around the ruins of Asenath, set in the museum. Tourists have increased in number, as she seamlessly integrates into the crowd and stalls.

She fell, triggering her clumsiness and causing a stall table to crash. A sudden cry preceded her apology as she quickly left. Despite his stubborn persistence and close grasp, she used a swift kick to his groin, escaped his hold, and disappeared down a nearby alley.
Move fast.
She climbed the emergency fire exit, her adrenaline stretched to the limit, pushing her forward—her determined Multimouse identity flaring within. To avoid being caught, she devised a plan to scale the building using her physical strength. Revealing her identity would end her career, so she wished to remain anonymous.

Sometimes she wished she hadn’t been a kleptomaniac.

Her admiration for Adrien Agreste had developed into stalking. Recalling the moments when she trespassed into Adrien’s home in her civilian form and swiped his phone. She understands it’s not right.

She was too afraid to confess to her crush. With the stalking intensifying, the Agreste family’s charges prompted a psychiatrist to take her into care. Her love’s obsessive-borderline disorder diagnosis shattered her world that day.

The Adrien she envisioned wouldn’t want someone messy like her.

Her kleptomania got worse over the next few years. After Hawk Moth’s defeat, she retired. Mullo is now back in Ladybug possession.

And now she’s only a civilian. In her last year at lycee. Forty-eight hours without sleep had left her in a terrible condition and brought her to this point—running from a tourist like a damn criminal.
Oh great, Marinette, what a life! What to do, what to do... Kwami, help me.

Like a street rat, she jumps to another building. Past clean laundry she ran, before falling and rolling in it, desperately attempting to get free. She does a somersault to reach another rooftop.

Her surprise stems from the teen’s experience, parkour agility, and speed.
Kwami, he’s closing in.

With only the roof left, a daunting jump was before her.

It’s a long drop. Doing that is beyond her in civilian form.

“You have no place to run. Give me my phone, thief!”
Cornered, she squealed like a trapped mouse, begging for sweet release. She closed her eyes, took the phone from her pocket.

“If I hand it to you, would you agree not to press charges? I swear it wasn’t on purpose. I have a condition. You see, being a kleptomaniac—I did it on impulse. Please.”

Her eyes were baggy. She used her puppy-dog eyes and drama queen antics to convince the man.

“Tsk. As if I’d let you get away with that. Let the police deal with you. Hand my phone over.”
Stern—and the fury in those emerald eyes was tantalizing. She felt something different in her chest.
Why now? Damn, the guy is hot.
Why am I attracted to green eyes? Feels like the Adrien situation all over again.

So she did it. Tossed it away from her—and she sprang.

The man, in a state of panic, took the phone and watched her leap from the high rooftop.

Time stopped. Ticking, as she anticipated the fall.
Is this her death?
Oh great. Marinette Dupain-Cheng—dying from jumping off a building.

This is it.
Being a superhero for two times, and her death comes just like this? No Akuma. No Ladybug. No miraculous reset.

Anticipating the fall—when she still had luck on her side.

She barely made it to the ledge.

A minute of exhilaration as she got to the other roof.
Distance is now great between them. She made a face and waved goodbye, bowing like a diva to her audience.

“Farewell to you, American,” she saluted the man mockingly before running off. Her face broke into a smile.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Marinette felt dizzy after the events of that day. Still dazed and trying to catch her breath, she managed to calm her panic.
She’s a proven thief, but she tossed back the phone to him. Hopefully, they won’t cross paths again; maybe luck or misfortune will decide.

Noting her vicinity, she realized that Alya’s apartment was nearby. She then headed to her best friend, Ladybug.

Entrusting the heavy burden of being the Guardian of the Miraculous to Alya, whose firm sense of justice weighed even heavier, was the right decision. Taking on the role of a supporting hero and having Mullo’s assistance had helped them in brief moments.

Since Hawk Moth’s defeat, Chat Noir has also retired, leaving her wondering about his whereabouts. Only Alya patrols as Ladybug.

Her memories end as she reaches the door and knocks. Knocked twice, and can’t wait to tell her mishap to Alya—when the door opens and the glasses girl sees Marinette disheveled, exhausted, and smelling worse than Camembert cheese.

“Marinette. Shower. Now.”

“Alya, I have a crazy story! I accidentally stole a really hot guy’s phone, leading to a wild chase through the city—I swear it wasn’t intentional!”

She’s rambling when Alya grabs her and pushes her toward the bathroom.

“Mari, breathe. We can talk later. Take a shower first—you stink. You still have your spare clothes in the cabinet, I’ll get them. We can talk about your adventure later.”

Marinette was shoved into the shower as she droned on, fatigue overtaking her. She moved on autopilot and took a quick bath.

Listlessly, after having a good quick shower, her stink was gone. She changed into fresh clothes and reached for her phone—
It was in her pocket.

But when she pulled it out—
Blue polished. Sleek. Wayne Tech logo.

Not her garish, pink, abomination of a cellphone.

She screamed.

“I’m an idiot! NOOOO!”

Alya barged into the bathroom door.

“What happened, Mari?!”

Marinette was a sobbing, incoherent mess. Panic-stricken, only rambling nonsense emerged instead of coherent words.

Alya glanced down and spotted the phone clutched in Marinette’s hand.
Blue. Sleek. With a Wayne Tech logo gleaming on the back.

A sudden realization struck her with great force.

“You stole someone’s phone, Mari.” Alya’s voice was flat, but her eyes were wide.

“Let me guess... a rich guy, right? This model isn’t even released to the public yet.”

She took the phone gently, inspecting it. It was encrypted—locked tight. Not much she could see, but she checked anyway.

Then Alya turned back to her best friend, grabbed her shoulders firmly but softly.

“Mari, breathe. Focus on me, okay? Just calm down first.

Marinette was speechless. Her mind raced back to tossing the phone. She hadn’t even looked at it. Now the phones were switched. She was in big trouble. Her phone held important designs and information. “Oh, Kwami, I’m screwed!” she thought. She’d probably go to jail.

She examined it carefully. The guy’s phone was shiny, sleek, and unmarked—military-grade, definitely.

In her moment of panic, the phone suddenly rang.

With a yelp, Marinette tossed it upward in a startled reflex. She fumbled to catch it—barely managing not to let it hit the floor—and accidentally answered the call in the process.

A tiny squeak escaped her lips. “Eep!“

Instead of staying silent like any sensible person in a crisis, her voice had been heard.

Then came a smooth voice in English, male, warm and teasing:
“Hey, Dames! How’s Paris treating you? Just a courtesy call—glad you picked up—”

The voice suddenly paused.

“...Dames? Are you there? Wait... I heard a girl. Dames, don’t tell me—it’s true? Oh my God, Dames! I’m so happy! I heard right—it’s a girl you’re talking to!”

Marinette froze, her brain short-circuiting.

“Hello, Miss! I’m his brother, by the way!”

Delusional panic kicked in. She scrambled for words, blurted out, “Sorry! He’s not here—call back later, bye!” and hung up so fast it was almost a punch to the screen.

Then she jumped up and flung the phone straight into Alya’s hands like it was on fire. Alya ended the call with wide eyes.