Li Pan didn't waste any time. Using a new company account, he wired the funds—fifty million, thirty-five million, ten million, five point two million, two hundred thousand, and six thousand five hundred credits—to settle those "little issues."
Of course, that meant paying a few taxes in between, but nothing unbearable. Transfers to employee accounts counted as standard operating expenses; he'd just have Orange draft a few extra invoices for reimbursement—enough to smooth things over during audit season.
The Veterans Relief Fund, meanwhile, had its own policy incentives and rebates. Panlong Construction was a local enterprise, and its legal representative could donate up to ten percent of the company's valuation annually to local funds. Those donations were not only tax-exempt, but sometimes even tax-deductible. Much of Panlong's financing came through that same channel.
However, that thirty-five-million transaction was far too sensitive. It couldn't stand up to scrutiny, and he couldn't let corporate accounting handle it. The only way was to classify it as a private gift—and since it exceeded ten million in a single transfer, the tax rate jumped straight to forty percent.
Fourteen million gone...
He sighed. Having been investigated recently and with several eyes still watching him, Li Pan didn't dare cut corners.
Thirty-five million for prosperous business.
Fourteen million for peace at home.
He gritted his teeth, sliced off a chunk of his metaphorical flesh, and became a model taxpayer.
His heart bled.
A hit of Black Ice steadied his nerves. Then he called Wangshan and, using a black-funds account, wired four hundred million—half the total—to pacify the pack of hounds. The other half, which required cash, could be delayed.
After all, these veterans lived on the edge of bankruptcy. Their account activity wouldn't survive an audit anyway. Li Pan had a perfect excuse to postpone payment, promising instead promotions, raises, commissions, bonuses, reimbursements, tax-deductible assets, or subsidized weapons purchases—paid in installments.
His swift, generous, and rational response left Wangshan stunned. Apparently, this was the first time a mutiny had gone this smoothly.
Finally, the man asked, "Hey, your company hiring? Cerberus Squad's always behind on pay…"
"Hiring? Hell yes!" Li Pan laughed. "I'm short on manpower—bring as many as you've got! Panlong's the most veteran-friendly company in Night City. You join me, you're all my wings!"
And just like that—with one billion in cash, four billion in dirty money, and a little over a billion in taxes—every issue was settled.
"What? Yulia? Forty billion? Screw that! I'm not giving it back! She can return what she took from me first!"
Ahem. In any case, Li Pan had no time to worry about her. Once free, he'd find a lawyer to secure that forty-billion asset under his name.
For now, the priority was to strike a deal with Amakusa. Without new supplies, the company fleet would soon collapse.
He sent the donation certificates to PONY, who quickly replied with a QVN private-link client.
"Checked it," PONY said. "No malware—won't fry your brain."
Trusting his friend, Li Pan linked into the remote server.
He'd thought the Veterans' Officers Club was a scam, but once logged into the super-dream network, he realized it was a genuine real-time simulation—a fully immersive virtual environment.
It looked like a mainstream VR game. With enough processing power, it could achieve total realism; disable the UI, and you couldn't tell it from reality.
In this era of super-AI computation, you could achieve perfect sensory immersion. Combined with certain stimulants, it became a hyper-intense experience—an electronic narcotic.
Naturally, such experiences weren't free: pay-to-play, subscriptions, microtransactions, loot-box draws, rebates. Same old tricks. In this world, no money meant no access—everyone knew that.
The "Veterans' Officers Club" resembled a private MMO server. Its address was encrypted, but the design was simple: a quiet bar, training hall, shooting range, hunting lodge, rowing dock, and gym—pastimes for retired soldiers.
Since entry alone cost fifty million, Li Pan entered as a VIP, free to customize his avatar.
He chose a Handkerchief Knight appearance, smoothed his features, put on a business suit, and stepped inside.
A robotic bartender confirmed his identity and guided him to a private booth.
Inside waited six men dressed as soldiers.
Each used the likeness of a famous Takama Ga Hara fleet admiral to mask his real identity. But from their natural, commanding presence, Li Pan could tell—they were genuine Interstellar Fleet officers, men of authority and experience.
The room's setup was telling: six men behind a long table, each with a cup of tea and a sugar cube. A single chair sat opposite them—his seat. It reminded Li Pan of that one humiliating job interview, the one that had ended with him being dragged through the street like a broom.
The leftmost admiral spoke first.
"Manager Li, we've received your proposal. Let's confirm: you wish to hire our forces to participate in a corporate war?"
Straightforward men. Refreshing.
Li Pan bowed slightly.
"The Interstellar Fleet's duty is to defend Earth and protect her citizens. I wouldn't dare violate the Committee's rules. I simply wish to form friendships—and establish a private military company. Hiring veterans and acquiring retired equipment will help expand operations for both sides."
The rightmost admiral smiled.
"I see. A man who cares for veterans. We're happy to help you obtain a PMC license."
Li Pan narrowed his eyes. Fifty million for a license was acceptable, but not his goal.
"Thank you, gentlemen. I was raised in a military family. I grew up supported by veterans' stipends and was educated in the Fleet academy. Everything I have today, I owe to the Fleet. I merely wish to repay that debt by contributing to Earth's prosperity."
The rightmost admiral nodded repeatedly.
"Well said! Truly admirable. A man like you deserves support!"
The second admiral on the left cut in.
"What's your offer?"
Li Pan raised a hand.
"Five times standard pension, with raises and bonuses by performance."
The rightmost admiral laughed.
"Impressive! Makes me want to retire right now!"
The others exchanged glances. The third on the left finally spoke.
"War kills people," said the third on the right. "And frankly, our current strength wouldn't mean much in a full corporate war."
Li Pan smiled.
"I'm aware. I don't expect one PMC to change the balance of power. I simply need professionals—pirate hunters, asset guards. The kind of work your Fleet does best. Experts for expert jobs."
He leaned forward.
"I promise to consult you before each mission. If you disagree, you can walk away fully paid—no hard feelings."
The first on the right clapped. "Beautifully said!"
Then the third on the left asked,
"How many fleets do you intend to field?"
Li Pan shrugged.
"I'm just a manager negotiating security contracts. But, say… up to one hundred forty trillion in battle losses before we talk expansion."
The room went silent.
"So," he grinned, "how many ships can you give me?"
All eyes turned to the second on the right, who finally answered:
"Ten light carriers, twenty cruisers, twenty destroyers, two hundred support ships, and about two thousand fighters and drones—five full combat-ready cruiser fleets."
"Peace-time staffing only," added the second on the left. "Each fleet operates a single active crew—about two thousand personnel. One on duty, one resting, three escorting. Enough for your needs… assuming it's pirates, not a real war."
"No battleships?" Li Pan frowned.
"Four or five hundred old hulls," said the second on the right. "Too outdated to keep up. We'd rather scrap them for ammo and fuel."
The first on the right smiled.
"Treaty restrictions, Manager Li. Cruisers and light carriers are our operational ceiling."
Li Pan nodded. Fair enough—five carrier groups, ten thousand men total. Any more, and he couldn't afford it anyway.
"This much force won't survive two rounds of salvo fire," muttered the third on the left coldly.
"Transfers take time," added another. "Only one fleet can rotate out this month. The rest need three to six months of paperwork."
Li Pan waved. "Then start with one fleet. Name your price."
The six exchanged glances. The third on the right spoke:
"One fleet, three hundred billion per month, three-month minimum. First payment—one trillion including munitions and logistics."
"Crew salaries on your end," added the second on the left. "Five-times pay, three-month advance. Set aside at least ten billion in reserve."
"Ammo consumption runs ten to thirty billion per quarter," said another. "Combat losses and pensions extra."
"After three months," added the third on the left, "we'll reassess further support."
"Deal?" the rightmost smiled.
Li Pan chuckled.
"That's steep. I could buy a fleet like that for a hundred billion."
The rightmost laughed.
"Ships are cheap. Trained crews aren't. Besides, it's a seller's market."
The leftmost added coldly,
"The Fleet is public property. We risk plenty even loaning these ships."
So that was the deal: a full light-carrier fleet—two light carriers, four cruisers, four destroyers, forty-plus support ships, four hundred drones, two thousand crew—for three months at one trillion.
Considering later operating costs and war losses, his new PMC would need at least fifty billion in starting capital.
Not bad. After all, Eighteen's Whale-class Drone Carrier alone had cost five hundred billion.
Of course, Eighteen bought only top-shelf equipment—installing the ICCS Centralized AI Command System, turning her ship into a fully autonomous fleet hub. No wonder it cost a fortune.
Li Pan asked, "What about fleet supplies?"
The second on the right replied,
"We'll give you coordinates for scrapped battleships and asteroid-belt depots. You'll handle loading. The Fleet can also deliver some stock directly. Future resupply can use Fleet stations in the KBO belt."
"As soon as the first trillion arrives," said the third on the right, "we'll help you form the PMC and reassign the fleet."
Li Pan nodded. "Fine. I'll bring this proposal to corporate. A trillion shouldn't be a problem. Anything else?"
"Nothing," the first on the right smiled. "Let's see the cards before we bet."
They dropped sugar cubes into their tea simultaneously.
"Thank you for your cooperation," Li Pan said, standing. Then he paused.
"By the way—got any spice?"
The other five vanished instantly, but the first on the right remained.
"Of course. Spice is part of the supply package. Price depends on the market."
Li Pan narrowed his eyes. "Understood. Then what about a Stealth-Recon Field Induction Device?"
"That's restricted," said the man. "Fleet, Customs, and Security Bureau monitor those. Illegal to dismantle. But if your PMC's business runs smoothly, I could arrange one at cost—two hundred million. Anything else?"
So it was him, then.
"No. Thank you."
He drank his tea and logged out.
Still… which one was Amakusa?
From their conversation, Li Pan deduced that all six were high-ranking officers—men who controlled personnel transfers, ship equipment, ammunition, even central command.
Though Night Group had only recently arrived in Sector 0791, the Interstellar Fleet was still riddled with officers trained under Takama Ga Hara. With the Oda faction collapsing and its vassals disbanding, the old hierarchy was breaking apart.
Now that they were renting out entire fleets and selling military supplies, it was clear—
the Fleet was slipping out of the Committee's control.
And the ones rising to power were the extremists: the Red Tengu and the Mingdie Society.
For Li Pan, that was good news.
Only such radicals would dare work with corporations, sell firepower for blood money, and join the chaos of corporate war.
TheM truly was rich—throwing around tens or hundreds of trillions without blinking.
Maybe that's how all corporate dogs developed their aura.
He left the booth. The robot bartender stood at the door with a tray—one cup of tea and a sugar cube.
"Tea" to erase traces from the server, "sugar" as an encrypted meeting record. Thoughtful. Both sides had their copies. Clean and official.
Li Pan popped the cube, raised the cup—
"Spice, sir? Ten kilos in stock. VIP price: one hundred billion. Two grams as samples."
Li Pan snapped his head toward the bot.
"So it was you."
"I gave you what you wanted," said the bartender evenly. "Now, where's mine?"
"It's with me," Li Pan replied. "How do you want delivery—direct upload?"
The bot placed another sugar cube on the tray.
"Bring it yourself. Come alone. We'll talk face-to-face."
Li Pan picked up the cube.
"Fair warning—I can't move a hundred billion now. If I do it through company books, people will ask questions."
"No matter," sneered the bot. "I'm not after money.
I just want to watch Night City burn."
Li Pan shrugged, swallowed the cube, raised his cup.
"Then you're a badass."
He drained the tea and logged off.
Not after money, huh?
A pure idealist. Still doesn't get it—
Only money solves everything.
With enough money, anything can be—
"Hello? Eighteen? What's up?"
"Boss, Kotarō's been kidnapped."
.
.
.
⚠️ 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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