"Mr. Li, your skeletal frame is already near the strength of level-5 military alloy. Cutting into it would require a molecular blade. We're only a branch clinic—our equipment isn't sufficient to safely perform a craniotomy and install an internal interface.
If you're in a hurry, though, I can customize a glove kit for you. It's an external frame for mounting a ballistic coordinator, with two extra data slots. You can load your chip and ICE components, then pair it with AR glasses to build a subnet. That way, you can still read the chip's data."
Damn. A street doc. Printing a glove and glasses and charging me 1,998? And it's just consumer-grade gear—CSI's military hardware would run circles around this junk.
"As for skin grafting, I can offer three tiers.
Basic: bundle dermal tissue, stop bleeding, and graft an antibacterial bio-skin layer.
Intermediate: adds flame-retardant coating, insulation, optional subdermal ceramic armor—best cost-performance.
Advanced: thermal converters, energy capacitors, ultralight nano-armor, optical camo, molecular-level immune leather, plus a cosmetic makeover and VIP membership benefits."
"…"
On the tablet, the packages flashed: "Only 9,998!" "Unbelievable price: 99,998!" "Shocking deal: 999,998!"
Well, surgery was included.
"1,998 plus 9,998, thanks…"
So Li Pan left the clinic with fresh skin, glove and glasses, stepping back into the glare of daylight.
"Welcome to ChaosTech Support. I am your Smart Assist—Fuxi. You are now linked to the Public Security System.
Citizen Li Pan, account balance: 5.32. Outstanding loan: 8,291.43. Total debt: 30XXXX.XX.
Next repayment due on the 15th. Please ensure sufficient funds.
Your mental deviation level is normal. Thank you for using the Public Security System. Have a smooth day."
…Damn it. New personal low.
Still, breaking even was enough for a legal account. In the black market he still had half a million in crypto, twenty-odd thousand from reselling Oda brain-chips, maybe more if Tōdō's "gift" was repaired. But all that laundering required Eighteen. She was a hacker, not an accountant—this month's repayment was hopeless. Best to raid Shura Association once Eighteen found their "farm."
Hashiba Finance had sent plenty of "apology money" too—but all overseas assets, totally out of his reach. Which meant: bankrupt again, while outworld branch managers got fat benefits.
Not malice—Hashiba had burned its fortune bribing Night Clan and Akaten Tengu to win the Executive Officer seat. Headquarters was satisfied, even rewarded Li Pan with a silver key. Great. What the hell would he eat tonight?
After filing reports all day and then graft surgery, he was starving.
Since the third transformation of Nine Yin Refinement, hunger was constant. Even after devouring the cafeteria at breakfast during the Night Clan standoff, by evening he was empty again.
Five credits left. Only food-aid stations could fill him.
While searching for the shortest relief line, Pastor texted. The funeral was ready. If he couldn't make it, there was a DreamNet livestream.
A funeral, though no remains to bury—only Big Bear's family projected in hologram, with AI emotion simulation. A farewell ritual for the living.
Li Pan took the subway. Outside the church, it looked less like a funeral than a Latino family gathering. Altar on the lawn, music, dancing. More like Día de Muertos—death as reunion, old life's end, new life's beginning.
Tables held tequila, mate, corn stew, chocolate, bread, tamales, pumpkin, sweets. Offerings, but shared by all, as if family bonds tied both worlds together.
Hungry, Li Pan shrugged, shook hands with Pastor, and joined the feast.
"Hey, amigo—you're Li, right?"
A burly youth approached. "I'm Juan. Lena's my cousin."
Li Pan wiped his hands, shook his. "I heard of you from Pastor. You're new in the city? How's Night City?"
Juan nodded. "Way better than the wasteland. I didn't know when our permits would come through—Lena helped, signed her old house over to my mom. Just a pity…" He sighed. "Anyway, I heard about you. Thanks. Damn, you're strong. That grip—cybernetics?"
Li Pan sized him up. Muscles big, likely hormone-enhanced, calluses on his hands. "You box?"
Juan laughed. "To earn permit fees, yeah. Not anymore. Out there, scavenger bastards can't lose fair—stab you instead. One almost gutted me. Now my mom's opening a bar, I'll work there."
"A bar's good. Add food, small diner's profitable."
"Exactly! Night City sells a potato burrito for fifteen! Robbery!"
"Sure is robbery…"
They chatted until some Lovers' Gang punks dragged Juan to drink, clearly recruiting him. Juan refused—he'd seen enough blood, had a mother to care for.
Respecting his choice, Li Pan kept eating.
Then an elderly Asian man in a suit approached—short, thin, silver-haired, spine stiff as a soldier.
"Good evening, Mr. Li."
"You too Lena's relative?"
He showed ID.
PUBLIC SECURITY AGENCY
THE THIRD INVESTIGATION DEPARTMENT
What the—fake?
Fuxi whispered in his ear: "ID verified. Please cooperate with Public Security Agency investigations."
Li Pan swallowed his food, returned the card, glanced around—no one else seemed to notice the man. Like a ghost.
So surveillance already seized local systems? One word from him and orbital divisions might descend.
He recited protocol: "Respected PSA Commissioner, for business matters please schedule through company office. Arrests require Committee warrants. Interrogation requires recorded system backup. As acting manager I demand legal counsel present…"
The agent, unfazed, pocketed his ID. "Not official business. Just personal questions. You may remain silent, and may record."
"I remain silent. Recording initiated."
…Hell. Between PSA and the Company, these 2,500 credits weren't worth it.
The old man sent a video—traffic cam footage of biker punks dragging a cadet behind their bikes. Li Pan recognized it instantly.
"Oh. That's me."
"Why didn't you call police?"
Li Pan nearly laughed. Call police? For academy hazing? "Forgot."
The agent stared. "Forgot?"
Li Pan scratched his head. "Fine. Truth. I was at Military Engineering Academy. Scored top on officer exam. Classmates—'friends'—celebrated, got me drunk, dumped me to those punks. Beaten, dragged, dumped in trash. Missed my interview. School charged me for truancy, brawling, insubordination.
Police? In a military academy? That'd kill my diploma and citizen rights.
Yeah, I later traced them. Middlemen hid the client. Obvious who ordered it. They wanted me dead. But for a few thousand credits, the punks wouldn't murder me. So I lived. I repaid them by dragging them like they dragged me—and let them go.
It's all in my record. If it made me ineligible, the system wouldn't have approved my citizenship."
The old man was silent, then: "I'm not investigating. I'm attending Osso's funeral. Saw you were here, wanted to see if I could help. No trouble then."
He sent a business card: Chen Insurance Consulting, Manager Chen Tan.
Li Pan was surprised. "Uncle Chen, you knew Big Bear? Did my parents save you too? They were medics—it was their job. No need for thanks. Or… are you trying to help me settle old scores? We could drink."
Chen Tan shook his head. "Another time." And walked away.
Li Pan was baffled. Why reveal PSA identity at all? What did his academy humiliation matter?
Searching online later, he found no record of a "Third Investigation Department." Even asking triggered search engine warnings. He'd have to check the DeepNet—or ask Eighteen.
Helping Pastor clean up, half-full, Li Pan wobbled home like a drunk, cultivating as he walked.
Better not stir trouble while PSA eyes were on him. No gang-grinding for XP tonight.
At night, Huang Da popped in, startling him—thought he'd been found out. Instead, the kid tried selling him a black-market DreamNet echo: the last memories of a cyberpsycho who'd slaughtered hundreds. Fifty credits. Cash only.
Li Pan scoffed—he'd done wilder things himself. And couldn't afford fifty anyway. Insulted by Huang Da's look—you can't even pay fifty?—he kicked him out.
That night, Li Pan dreamed of feasting—banquets of monstrous delicacies piled in bronze cauldrons and ceramic platters. He devoured happily, until waking hungrier than ever.
At dawn, Kotaro knelt, head down: "Red bean mochi sumimasen! My first mission failed, you saved me, I shamed the Company! Please punish me!"
Half-fed at breakfast, Li Pan waved him off. "Don't repeat it. Take a mission, scout the Shura base. If you're caught again, you're on your own."
"Yes, sir! I will redeem myself!"
Rama-Eighteen reported: "Crypto's crashing. Don't worry, just technical adjustment. I'm watching. It'll rebound. Don't rush me!"
Li Pan sighed. Not like he had a real economist on 2,500 salary. "Dump it when it recovers."
Ah Qi brought coffee: "Still no word from Bedsheets."
"Keep pressing. Rama, with me on fieldwork."
As Li Pan flipped through the fax machine's mission files, he knew the truth: his breakthrough to third transformation wasn't meditation, or dual cultivation, or kills. It was swallowing the Hairband monster. That was what the Green-Robed Freak meant by demon-slaying.
But the Company's stock couldn't be touched. He'd have to find wild monsters to level on.
.
.
.
⚠️ 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.