"Hm~" I groaned as my eyes slowly opened, greeted by a blank white ceiling.
"…Where am I. Oh yeah. Another world." I muttered, exhaustion weighing down every inch of my body as I forced myself upright, staring ahead with unfocused eyes.
Shit… what am I gonna do now? I scratched the back of my head, completely fucking lost.
Dragging my tired body off the bed, I wandered around the small clinic, my steps slow and unsure, curiosity tugging at me despite the fatigue.
"So I let you sleep here for free, and now you're snooping around?" A voice suddenly spoke from behind me.
I jolted, spinning around in panic, heart pounding.
"Fuck it's you!" I let out a shaky chuckle, rubbing my neck as I tried to recover. "You scared the hell outta me."
"You're still here," he said, stepping closer, eyes flicking over whatever I had been looking at. "Got nowhere to go?"
I opened my mouth, but no words came out.
Nothing.
"So… you really don't have anywhere?" he asked quietly, studying me. "Do you at least know anything about how things work around here?"
"…No."
His expression stiffened in surprise. Maybe he thought I was some sheltered Nest kid, but I didn't look like one. Too worn. Too broke. Too empty.
"…Fine," he sighed. "Then I'll teach you the bare minimum common sense for surviving these streets."
I nodded, bracing myself like a student waiting for a lecture.
"This place is called The City," he began.
"Twenty-six districts, arranged alphabetically.
Each one under a Wing's control. The district we're in? I Corp territory District 9."
I listened for a long time, my mind slowly drifting until something caught my interest.
"In The City, there are two main factions excluding Wings and The Head," he continued. "Fixer Offices and Syndicates."
"What's a Fixer?" I asked, raising my hand instinctively. "I know what syndicates are, but not Fixers."
He blinked, slightly amused. "A Fixer is basically a contractor. They take jobs—escort missions, exterminations, investigations. Their strength is ranked by Grade."
"Grade?" I tilted my head.
"Nine levels. The lower your number, the stronger you are."
I nodded slowly, then interrupted him. "Does it pay well?"
That clearly caught him off guard.
"…Yeah," he admitted after a pause. "But it's dangerous. Deadly, even—especially the lower your Grade."
My eyes lit up. "Then how do I become one?"
He studied me, tired concern flickering across his face. "You sure about that?"
I didn't answer. My expression said everything.
"…Then you'll need to register at Hana Association and take the test," he said. "But there's a condition. You need strength most Fixers have augmentations."
"Augmentations like what fucking robot arms!?" I blurted out, stunned.
"Yeah," he nodded. "But those cost money.
There are cheaper options though tattoo augmentations."
My shoulders slumped.
So I still need money…
Figures. Even in another world, money was still god.
"But," he added, "you can pass without augmentations if you're naturally strong… or insanely lucky."
Hope flickered inside me.
"…Can I stay here until I become a Fixer?" I asked softly. "I'll pay you back."
I met his gaze, almost pleading.
"…Sure," he said after a moment. "Just don't forget that promise."
He turned and walked outside the clinic.
"Fuck yes…" I whispered, clenching my fists. "Alright. Training starts soon… but first, I need food."
I stepped out of the clinic and walked for a while, hunger gnawing at my stomach.
Then something caught my eye.
A restaurant.
A bright sign reading
HamHamPangPang
"…That'll do."