Though the Hound had lost, her physical resilience was remarkable. After being pummeled across the rooftop and knocked all the way down, she was only unconscious for three to five minutes. Then she staggered back to her feet, spat out two molars mixed with blood, and her swollen bruises were already scabbing over as they healed.
Of course, being beaten so brutally in front of a crowd didn't do wonders for her mood. Leticia's Hound looked like a drowned dog, crestfallen, nose broken and bleeding freely. She didn't even notice her luggage had been tampered with and a stocking was missing. Silent, she picked up her maid uniform bundle and squeezed into the subway to head home.
Li Pan followed in foul temper. Damn it, couldn't she have paced herself? Just stall a few more rounds and Old Liu would've thrown his back out! Rush, rush, rush—what for? And now he was out four million. Four million! Damn it all…
Distracted, the Hound never noticed him tailing her. She trudged into the city center, slipped in through a side entrance of a massive palace-like building, and passed an iris scan to enter the staff corridor.
With guards and drone cameras everywhere, barging in behind her would be far too obvious. Li Pan circled around to the front—
Ah. The Phantom Midnight Opera House.
Yes, opera still existed in this era.
The lower classes preferred explosive-ball sports or VR smut. Those with a little spare cash stuck to nightclubs or bathhouses.
But the elite? They cultivated "culture." Opera houses remained their playgrounds for networking and preening.
Each corporation had its own "culture." Takamagahara's samurai loved their seppuku tea ceremonies. Ye Corporation's blood-slave aristocracy adored operas and balls.
It was midnight—the hour when drones carried off the exhausted drones, and executives came out to play. The grand entrance was jammed with shuttles arriving and departing. Couples in gowns and tuxedos descended in style, mingling with celebrity socialites and vampire elders. Security was tight—bodyguards, police, even Night Knights stood watch, checking invitations.
No way through the front. Online, Li Pan saw tickets went for over three thousand apiece—one month's wages for a worker—and were impossible to buy anyway. Corporations block-booked performances months in advance as social perks for executives. Without a three-month reservation, forget it.
Unable to find an infiltration route, he lingered by the entrance, scouting weak points for a diversion—maybe start a fire—and jotting down today's report. He was about to send K his intel on Leticia's Hound, hoping to recoup a bit of his losses, maybe a hundred grand, when a sudden fragrance drifted by.
Looking up, he saw her: Emilia, Knight Commander of the Aemilius clan, descending the marble steps in a silk evening gown, crystal heels tapping. Each sway of her skirt teased exposure. Li Pan worried she'd trip and spill out entirely.
"Well, if it isn't Manager Li. What wind brings you here? Hoping to enjoy the opera?"
Even from afar, the surveillance cameras had caught him. Security was thorough.
"Knight Commander, long time no see. I was just wandering, didn't realize reservations were required…"
Emilia extended her hand. Li Pan dutifully kissed the back of it.
She wore perfume tonight—fruity pear and lychee, layered with jasmine and peony, finishing in musk and orchid. The shifting notes made Li Pan's head swim. Definitely a five-figure bottle per ounce.
With a lilting smile, she said:
"I've long wanted to share a drink with you. I've a seat tonight, and going alone is so dull. Will you accompany me?"
So easy? Then let's go.
"A beauty's invitation—how could I refuse?"
She slid close, hooked his arm, and led him inside. As a Knight Commander and blood heir of a ruling prince, she was one of Ye Corp's most influential figures. All along the way, corporate lackeys bowed and scraped.
Li Pan used the chance to scan the hall. At the far end, a garden corridor—yes. This was the place. The spot where he'd once been kidnapped by werewolves. He'd thought it was some noble estate; in truth, it was the opera house.
Made sense. This place doubled as a cultural hub and museum, modeled after vampire castles, perfect for blending in. Wolves hiding under the vampires' noses—darkness beneath the lamp. But maybe that meant Ye itself sheltered wolves inside…
For now, he followed Emilia upstairs to her private box.
Inside lounged two men and two women, beautiful and masked, dressed in silk robes. Bite marks across their limbs betrayed them as blood slaves prepared for her refreshment.
Noting Li Pan's lack of interest, Emilia dismissed them. They sat together on the sofa while maids served blood wine and red vintages. From here the entire amphitheater was visible, masked nobles taking seats as cleaning drones finished preparations.
"Tonight's piece is Medea," she said. "The tale of a wife betrayed by her hero husband, who takes revenge."
Li Pan checked online. "Holy—she killed her own children?"
Indeed: Jason abandoned Medea for wealth and status. But Medea was no saint—she had murdered her brother to elope. Betrayed, she murdered her rival, then stabbed her sons.
Emilia chuckled.
"Don't worry. Grand Knight Cornelia won't chase us down for watching a play."
Li Pan forced a laugh.
"I'm softhearted. Can't stand tragedies."
Emilia laughed louder.
"Tragedy? Not at all. Medea's vengeance was complete. Jason suffered. The usurpers were punished. Even the innocent-seeming youths paid with blood. Every sinner punished. A clean, perfect revenge.
And tell me—don't you think managers at Monster Corp would love that?"
Li Pan frowned. "What do you mean by that?"
"You'll see. Spoilers ruin the fun." She sipped her blood wine, lips gleaming red.
Li Pan held his tongue, scanning for werewolves in maid garb while following the surtitles. The soprano lead was superb, her singing transcendent. Supporting roles too—flawless performances. Even Li Pan was drawn in.
Suddenly Emilia gripped his hand.
"It's coming—this scene."
Onstage, Medea's sons begged the king not to exile them with their mother, offering the princess a golden robe and crown. Of course, both were cursed.
As the princess donned them, horror struck. She convulsed, foamed, screamed. The orchestra surged. Flames erupted, the golden crown blazing like a sun, her beauty and golden hair consumed. Her body burned to ash, while the robe and crown shone untarnished.
The theater fell silent as the king staggered on, weeping. His lines faltered, half-sobbed, until the cursed robe leapt onto him, searing him alive. His screams filled the hall as flesh peeled away, cooked onto the fabric until he collapsed, charred.
All the while, the boys stood smiling, golden light in their eyes, a shadowy figure looming behind them.
Then Medea entered, clutching a wooden blade, trembling, off-key with emotion. Step by step, she stabbed her sons in the heart. Blood sprayed. They fell. The cursed glow faded.
Curtain.
The audience sat stunned, then roared applause.
Emilia whispered, "You're squeezing my hand."
Li Pan stared. "That wasn't acting, was it?"
She licked her lips.
"Of course it was. Every year we sacrifice four lives to the 'Golden Robe and Crown of Helios,' so the sun god witnesses Medea's revenge and stays his wrath. Exactly as agreed."
"You're telling me—burning people alive is the containment protocol? No alternative?"
She crossed her legs.
"What would you prefer? Leave them to detonate on the surface and ignite the atmosphere? Cast them into space and risk birthing new stars—or black holes? Would Earth even remain habitable?"
Li Pan fell silent. Framed like that, four sacrifices a year was the simplest solution.
"So the crown and robe are our company's monsters…"
"Not yours. Ours," she corrected. "You merely advised on containment. Many relics require rituals and sacrifices. Haven't your superiors briefed you?"
"…How many others?"
She smirked. "Planning to buy, or steal, as always? Same old story."
Li Pan offered, "Thirty percent cut."
She leaned close, whispering, "Half."
He sneered. "Half? You'd choke on it."
She teased his palm. "Shall we test my appetite?"
Damn this woman. Watching Medea burn her rivals, and now she was seducing him. No shame.
"So besides immolation, what good are they? Worth all this trouble?"
"Coronation," she said simply. "Even thousand-year-old princes would be reduced to ash by Helios' regalia. Anything capable of killing Methuselahs must be tightly contained."
True—immortals feared death most. The regalia was perfect vampire-killer.
Emilia's hand slid along his waist. "Don't worry about these. Our clan guards them well. I'd never be stupid enough to steal from myself."
Li Pan yanked her hand away. "We can talk without groping."
She only stretched lazily, smiling.
"No need to be shy. I hear you've already won the Grand Knight's favor—even shared her bed at the citadel? Unheard of. I'd like to see what makes you so irresistible."
She coiled around him like a spider, fangs bared, murmuring at his ear:
"The Holy Grail is hidden in Cornelius' castle. Your company covets it. Give me one use, and I'll steal it for you."
Li Pan hesitated.
She pressed,
"Don't worry about your Grand Knight. She handles field ops, not internal security. She may even help you—I doubt she'd resist the Grail."
"What is it? Don't try to trick me." Li Pan's hand hovered by her heart, ready to pierce.
Unfazed, she leaned closer.
"As long as the heart and head aren't destroyed, we vampires revive in death coffins. But immortality is a façade. Wounded, we slumber. Too much artificial blood weakens us, erases memory, takes centuries to recover.
And if we never rest, our bodies still decay. Worse, those who drink too much blood suffer the Blood Wail—like cyberpsychosis for vampires. Memories devour them. They lose themselves, becoming raging beasts. The older you are, the greater the risk.
But with the Holy Grail, we can purge the Blood Wail. Awaken our blood memories. Restore our strength. No vampire would refuse.
Yet the Grail is reserved only for princes—used in triumph ceremonies and knighting rituals.
I, as Knight Commander of House Aemilius, can access it. You, as vassal of Cornelius, can reach it. Together, during the change of governors, we can seize it—flawless timing."
Li Pan frowned. "Aren't you already high rank? Why not wait for promotion?"
She snarled, clawing him,
"You think advancement comes with age? Seats are few, competition endless. Even promotion only grants a sip—far from enough to cure my Blood Wail.
My patron's term is ending. Once she slumbers, I'll wait centuries more! What then—become a street enforcer like Catherine? Look at me—I'm not built for war! I refuse to become a beast!"
Li Pan wiped sweat. True enough—hers was a different kind of "combat build."
"Fine. I'll consider it."
She laughed. "Consider? After all this? I want to see if you've got the skills to charm K so thoroughly."
With that, she straddled him, fangs flashing, and sank down to bite.
.
.
.
⚠️ 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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