RM300,000 Toy Heist: Malaysian Live-Streamer Scammed Collectors And Fled The Country

Currently hiding abroad, the scammer has left behind a community of collectors who learned the hard way that in the world of artificial scarcity and collector FOMO, the rarest commodity isn’t a limited-edition figurine—it’s common sense.

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A Malaysian hustler just pulled off the con of the year in the high-stakes world of designer toy collecting, where plastic figurines command prices that could cover a semester of private university tuition.

The con artist disappeared with nearly RM300,000 of other people’s money, leaving nothing but broken promises and WhatsApp receipts in his wake.

The scam centred around Royal Molly figurines, those coveted limited-edition designer toys that have transformed from children’s playthings into investment vehicles for adults with disposable income and questionable financial priorities.

Our antihero—a live streamer who built his reputation through Facebook broadcasts—offered these collectables at prices low enough to seem like a deal but not so low as to trigger suspicion.

It was the perfect bait for the collector community, where fear of missing out (FOMO) drives purchasing decisions more than logic ever could.

Screenshot revealing the scammer’s tactics that defrauded toy collectors of nearly RM300,000. The post shows how the con artist used Facebook livestreams to build credibility, offering Royal Molly figurines at tempting prices. Note the points-based system advertised in Chinese with excessive emojis – a clever scheme that exploited collectors’ FOMO.

An Exercise in Endless Excuses

One victim, identified only as Ms A, fell into the trap when the scammer – her brother’s classmate – reached out, knowing she was a Royal Molly enthusiast.

On 5 February, she placed an order with delivery promised by 5 March.

But like watching a master class in stalling, the excuses began rolling in: China hadn’t shipped yet. Just wait another week. How about a different colour Van Gogh almond blossom figure for an extra RM500?

Why invest RM2,999 in a 1kg piece of plastic? Because nothing says “financial sophistication” quite like spending a month’s rent on a toy you’ll never remove from its box!

By 7 March, with no toys in sight, the scammer finally admitted he’d never placed her order.

After promising a refund that never materialized, he vanished, leaving Ms A lighter by RM7,488 for toys she’ll never unbox.

Desperate for assistance, she later sought help from Kepong MP Lim Lip Eng to address the fraud and potentially recover her losses.

Screenshot of a 28 February social media post showing classic delay tactics. The scammer reposted about a “second wave of pre-sales,” blaming delays on “issues with my friend in China” while confidently promising to ship “within the next 7 days” – complete with cool sunglasses emojis to maintain an air of credibility. This matches the timeline of excuses described in Ms A’s case, where delivery was initially promised by 5 March but never materialized.

RM500 Repayment Plan

The true scale of the operation only became apparent when victims began connecting through WhatsApp, forming what must be the world’s most depressing support group.

Over 30 collectors had been taken, with the largest single order totalling RM35,000.

The collective damage? Around RM300,000—enough to buy a decent apartment—disappeared into the ether like so many unseen action figures.

When the victims tracked down the scammer’s brother, they received an offer that added insult to injury: monthly instalments of RM500—a repayment plan that would take approximately forever – with the caveat that if anyone filed a police report, all repayments would stop.

It’s the financial equivalent of a hostage negotiation, except the hostage is already dead.

The Ultimate Unboxing Disappointment

In perhaps the most audacious twist, when pressured to return the money, the scammer claimed his mother was hospitalized and had the nerve to ask his victims for loans between RM2,500 and RM5,000.

It’s like robbing a bank and then asking the teller for the bus fare home.

As of now, only three victims have filed police reports, with others either accepting the glacial repayment plan or writing off their losses as an expensive lesson in trust.

Meanwhile, the scammer remains abroad, presumably surrounded by enough Royal Molly figurines to fill a small warehouse.

What is the moral of this plastic tragedy? In the collector economy, where artificial scarcity drives irrational behaviour, the most valuable commodity isn’t the limited-edition toy – it’s the ability to recognize when you’re being played.

And perhaps the realization that no vinyl figurine is worth losing your financial common sense over, no matter how rare.