Truth be told, the body count lately was getting ridiculous. Li Pan had tried his luck at the Lottery multiple times with "super double" bets, and every single one had flopped—leaving him to watch the jackpot swell to a full 500 million.
Tempting… should he go for one more double bet?
No. Better not. Damn it, this was only the first day after loan repayment, and he was already skirting bankruptcy again. He really needed to find a way to make some cash—worst case, sell blood a couple more times, or he wouldn't survive next month.
After wrapping up business with the Pastor, Li Pan headed back to work. He'd taken a company car out, so he might as well show up at HQ and clock in.
This field job was a "Monster Acquisition" gig: HQ had picked up signs of a possible monster, and he was to check it out, secure it, and ideally do it for the lowest possible cost to score a good performance rating.
On the aircar ride, he watched the short clip HQ had sent over—shot by a bunch of street punks. They claimed to have caught a "bio-weapon chimera," a fur-covered monkey in a steel cage that could breathe fire, and were auctioning it off on social media.
The company had churned out a report dozens of pages long, complete with scans and lab analyses, all to reach this conclusion:
That wasn't a monkey—it was a human.
Damn. So HQ could pad their work too—writing that much to say something so obvious.
Turned out it was a malnourished child, with its vocal cords and skin flayed, glued over with a layer of dog hide. Just a stunt for clicks.
The company's analysts had gone in circles because the punks' camera gear was so cheap it couldn't capture details—so they still couldn't figure out how the kid breathed fire.
Li Pan didn't get it from the video either—the punks had even shown its mouth to prove there were no implants, no magic props, no video edits. Maybe HQ's analysts were just bored, stumbled on this clip, and decided to send someone in to check.
Fine. Nothing complicated. Li Pan flew the car straight to the location, dropped from the sky, smashed through the punks' slum hideout, and fired a shot.
"Wha—?! What's going on?!"
The punks jumped, pulling up their pants, staring at the smoking crater nearby.
…Missed from twenty meters.
BOOM! The crater erupted, blowing one punk's head clean off.
Damn it! Forgot to swap ammo—wasted a 150-credit round.
"What the hell was that?!"
"Something just fell!"
"That a flying car?!"
Before they could piece it together, Li Pan grabbed a wrench and waded in, cleanly dismantling their limbs.
To be fair, he didn't want to be this bloody, but:
Without his ballistic processor, his aim sucked.
The mag was full of expensive Level-5 rounds.
Many of these punks had replaced their limbs with cheap prosthetics—easy to twist off.
In short order, he'd reduced them to limbless torsos. The fire-breathing "monkey" was hanging in a cage from the rafters, curled up, eyes wide with horror.
Buddy, you look more like a ghost than I do.
Whatever. Monster acquired.
He hauled the cage back to the office.
Eighteen wrinkled her nose.
"Ugh, what the hell is that? Stinks."
"And yet you came closer. Office boredom, huh?"
"It's the monster we're containing. Keep your distance—this one's unstable. Might burn you."
"Burn me?"
"Yeah, it breathes fire when it's, uh… aroused."
No real threat, since the punks had taken "precautions"—castration, and drug injections to trigger it for shows. Mentally broken, basically.
Li Pan shoved a tablet at Eighteen to keep her busy while he washed up and filed the report.
The fax reply came quick.
"What?! Task incomplete? I got the thing for free—how's that not complete?!"
The landline rang with clarification:
"For Monster Acquisition, the tech department must confirm it's beyond human understanding—"
"Well, I can't understand it!"
"—and analyze its rules and taboos, confirm containment measures, and submit a verified report—"
"Damn it, what a pile of red tape!"
Eighteen walked over with her tablet.
"He's not a monster—he's a mutant."
"…What?"
Both Li Pan and the "monkey" turned to look at her.
Eighteen projected data—full family social security records included.
"His name's Rama. Likely mutated because his mother, Freya, signed with a company for an illegal fetal drug trial.
"The Ethics Committee shut the company down mid-experiment. His mother lost her income, died from drug side effects, and the punks took Rama while collecting debts."
Li Pan squinted. "How'd you dig all that up?"
"Those punks' accounts were easy to hack. They even tried to use Freya's health account to scam Rama's benefits.
"It's all tied to Tamura Pharmaceuticals—Freya was a janitor there, later receiving subsidies through them. A cleaning lady with pregnancy benefits? Yeah, right. Just parents selling their kids to corp labs."
The company president, Tamura Hiroshi, was a med school professor researching mitochondrial mutation and synthetic hormones. His lab was raided during the Takama-ga-hara Collapse.
"Oh, nice work, Eighteen."
"Hmph, of course—"
Rama suddenly gripped the cage and let out a hoarse, inhuman wail, tears streaming like beads.
Li Pan and Eighteen exchanged glances, crouching by the cage.
If he was an artificial human, he wasn't a "monster" under company rules.
"Hey, Rama—looking like that, the NCPA would just process you as a pest. Why not join our company? You might even get an archive reset, start over."
Rama kept sobbing.
Li Pan shrugged at Eighteen. "Maybe you talk to him—you might have common ground."
Eighteen rolled her eyes. "What, C language?"
Just then, an office door opened and a neatly dressed OL stepped out—smiling politely until she saw the "monster" in the cage, gasping before fleeing in high heels.
A Qi emerged, shaking his head and tapping on a tablet with auto-speech output.
"They all think the trial period's too long."
Li Pan sighed. Maybe he'd have to bait some new grads at job fairs…
"Alright, fine. Not a monster, so case closed. Once the logistics hire paperwork is done, I'm off. A Qi, Eighteen—see if you can recruit him. If not… let him go."
Eighteen "hmph"-ed and wandered off.
A Qi eyed the still-wailing Rama and typed: Want some coffee?
At least there was good news—Akiyama Masako had messaged, inviting him to meet in the Old Capital's Kabukicho Yoshiwara at the high-class restaurant Izumo-ya.
Li Pan looked it up—average spend per person: 8,000. Damn, he could work three months and not cover one meal. And this was the kind of place where second-gen heirs came to play, reservation-only. Without the right neural implant, he wouldn't even get past the gate.
Didn't matter. He'd get in. He was nearly broke—if he didn't squeeze some cash out of the Akiyama family, he was done for.
So he had to get a chip installed again—this time, learning from last time: no pricey Level-4 tech, just a Level-3 civilian chip.
Picked an HT Tech Fuxi 13 Pro for 8,888 credits, plus a ballistic processor for 4,000 (20% off), total 12,888. With his corporate interest-free loan maxed out, he took a low-interest annual loan instead—over 1,000 a month.
Hard life. Damn hard.
Kabukicho's Yoshiwara Street—the most glamorous part of Night City. Historically the licensed red-light district, it was once a walled compound that opened only at night for the courtesans and oiran.
These days, the entire district ran 24/7, lined with luxury clubs and hotels, swarmed by supercars and aircars.
But the crown jewel was still Old Yoshiwara Street—the highest-end zone, with top-tier security and a permanent Safety Bureau guard detail. Meeting there signaled good faith—no intent to fight.
Li Pan had heard of Yoshiwara's glory days, when every night was a festival and every club fought to crown its oiran queen. But after Takama-ga-hara's collapse, the city's new blood-drinking elite had no taste for sake brewed in courtesans' mouths.
Now it was still bright but fading—its clientele downgraded to tourists and retired old men.
After surgery and buying ammo, Li Pan had 200 credits left for food. He took the subway, followed a robot geisha to a private room, where Akiyama Masako awaited in full formal kimono—white base, plum blossoms, silver thread, and the family crest from the Oda clan.
He recalled internet gossip claiming kimonos could be untied and laid flat like a bed sheet—but looking at the many layers, it seemed more complicated.
"Manager Li, you must be busy—still in work clothes, working late?" she said, noting his rumpled suit, the smell of blood, dust, gunpowder, and sweat clinging to him. Her cheeks flushed under his steady gaze.
He'd noticed her discomfort, but couldn't help it—he'd been through hell the past few days.
Then it hit him—he'd never returned the rental suit, and it was already damaged. More money down the drain.
Irritated, he said, "Mrs. Akiyama, we're all just making a living—no need for small talk. Let's get to it. Where's the company's property?"
She bowed formally.
"My apologies for the damage to your company. Please grant me more time—I'll recover the lost item and make amends."
He wasn't surprised—there was no way she could recover it. But he put on a loud, angry act.
"What? Compensation? So it's not coming back? Madam, you don't want a river of Akiyama blood, do you? I came in person—don't make this harder than it has to be!"
She hesitated, then nodded as if steeling herself.
"I understand. I came tonight prepared to pay the price."
"Oh? And how much are you prepared to pay?"
Honestly, he'd settle for 310,000 to clear his loan.
Instead, she blushed, pulled out her hairpin, loosened her kimono, and fell forward in a deep, bare-skinned bow.
"It's true—this was my daughter's foolish mistake. I failed to guide her. If you'll spare her, I'll do anything.
"But… the Akiyama finances are strained. My father's hospitalized, my husband's away, Ayako still has university loans, and the dojo is struggling.
"It's just after settlement day—I can't produce a proper gift right now. Please grant me a few more days. As for this body—punish it however you wish."
Ah, the legendary "naked apology." Did they teach this at youth centers? She was really wearing nothing underneath, too—guess the internet was right.
"Hey! Don't joke around! Who do you think I am? Stripping isn't payment! I lost an entire warehouse—what, you think one night makes us even?!"
Then a thought struck him.
"Wait—you did cover the meal, right?"
"Of course! That's basic etiquette. I had a friend arrange everything to host you properly."
She clapped, and robot geisha streamed in with a feast—wild-caught seafood, rare game, all pure and natural.
Smiling, she crawled closer, kneeling at his side.
"Manager, please don't be angry. I have no wish to oppose your company, nor to dodge the debt. Just grant me a few more days. You've worked hard today—let me pour you a drink to show my sincerity. Afterwards, punish me as you please…"
He was about to refuse, but then her hands brushed his waistband, eyes flicking to his belt—sending a jolt through him.
At that moment, heat flared in his core, surging up to clash with the icy breath in his lungs—his spine burning like oil, his tongue chilled like ice, a storm churning in his gut.
Hiss—
Was this… how the Nine Yin Manual was supposed to be cultivated?
"Ahem. Then… one drink to wet the throat."
Li Pan loosened his jacket and sat down.
.
.
.
⚠️ 30 CHAPTERS AHEAD — I'm Not a Cyberpsycho ⚠️
The system says: Kill.Mercs obey. Corporates obey. Monsters obey.One man didn't.
🧠💀 "I'm not a cyberpsycho. I just think... differently."
💥 High-voltage cyberpunk. Urban warfare. AI paranoia.Read 30 chapters ahead, only on Patreon.
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