Chapter 42
Chapter 42
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 42
Chapter Title: Boy Meet Girl
-----------------------------------------------------------------
#015_Boy meat girl
#042
1.
“Right.”
“What?”
“It’s engraved. The imprint.”
What?!
An imprint on me?
So what the hell is an imprint?
Truth be told, I don’t know much myself, so let’s hear it from the one-shot instructor, Ceres Madam.
“The imprint is a ‘bias in the circuit.’”
Originally, mana circuits are like blank slates that can accept any kind of mana.
If you draw the appropriate imagery and follow the correct procedures, theoretically, they’re compatible with any spell.
“But once an imprint is engraved, the circuit can only use the imprinted spell. Right now, your upper arm has the Death Verdict imprint.”
Ceres’s fingertip traced a line from my right shoulder down to my elbow.
It was strangely ticklish and gave me chills.
So, to sum it up.
“You’re saying my right upper arm circuit has been trained exclusively for Death Verdict?”
“Do I have to put it that way?”
“Then what happens?”
“You lose versatility but gain specialization. Ultimately, a mage’s realm is defined by how much they refine and elevate this imprint. You’ve taken your first step.”
Hearing more, I understood why she called it a ‘bias in the circuit.’
Simply put, it’s like flashing the ROM in my circuit?
More simply, it’s like getting a skill clicky button.
Not only does it drastically shorten the ‘procedures’ needed to cast a spell, but the power is much stronger too.
But here’s a question.
“Is an imprint supposed to form this easily?”
“No, that’s why it’s strange.”
Ceres said it flatly.
“Imprints form after perfectly understanding the principles of the spell and mastering it thousands, tens of thousands of times.”
“But I don’t really understand the principles of Death Verdict.”
“I know. Your mana handling skills are mediocre. Slightly below average, even. Your circuit performance is right around average too. But….”
Ceres caressed my cheek.
“Your imagery is special. It’s as if… yeah, like you’ve experienced death over and over.”
As expected, Ceres Madam is sharp.
Of course, that’s part of it, but…
The imprint probably formed thanks to the proficiency bonus from ‘Growth Acceleration’ at high probability.
I’d stormed through those 8th-grade fixers, leveling up like a storm in real time.
I tossed out one last question.
“Ceres Madam, if the imprint vanishes for some reason… is it hard to rebuild it?”
“You always ask the weirdest questions, huh?”
This is an important question.
Fast growth is great, but it all sticks to the hardware called the imprint, right?
If the imprint resets at regression points, I’ll need to revise my 1st-run plan.
“Even if it did, you’d recover it in no time. The imprint disappearing doesn’t erase your imagery or interpretation, right? You’d reach that realm again quickly.”
Good, no problems then.
Confirmed that the 1st-run strategy stays the same.
All that’s left is to polish this imprint thing through as much real combat as possible.
I need to take quests from Eiming, slice up fixers like today, and push the ceiling as high as it’ll go.
Plus, it builds intimacy with Eiming, so it’s a two-birds-one-stone deal.
Steadily stacking the stairs to Arbel Bunny Girl!
I threw on my burgundy leather coat and got ready to leave.
“Heading out right away?”
I gave a quick bow to Ceres Madam, who had come to see me off at the elevator for some reason.
“Yup! Thanks for all the help. Really grateful for today!”
“…Yeah.”
Ceres Madam seems in a bad mood today.
2.
After that last mission retrieving the British specialty product.
I started seriously taking on Phantom Ghost Clan jobs.
“Rowen, the reason I haven’t officially brought you into the Phantom Ghost Clan is…”
“I know. Don’t say it, bro. You think I don’t get it?”
“You punk! You do get it!”
I’m not officially part of the Phantom Ghost Clan.
My official position is still Eiming’s Little Bro, an external contractor fixer.
That’s not all bad.
Getting deeply involved with the Phantom Ghost Clan means taking on that much more responsibility and duty.
My two most hated words: responsibility and duty.
Eiming already treats me special beyond Little Bro anyway, so I just enjoy the gigs without the baggage.
“If possible, stick to beating down the bad guys.”
“There’s plenty of easy, comfy jobs—why?”
“Suits my temperament.”
“Grrraaah! Right! A real man’s gotta ejaculate from the thrill of battle at least once!”
“Huh?”
Th, this crazy bastard….
Eiming cross-dressing and fighting while creaming his pants?
Gaaah! My brain’s gonna explode.
“I’ll work hard to cum properly!”
“Yeah!!!”
Anyway.
Overnus Pharmaceuticals was a full-on crime cartel masquerading as a corporation.
Noble mafia keeping lines? Gentlemanly mafia? The Godfather? Don Corleone?
That’s all fanfic paid for by the mafia.
“Pick a request… from these.”
“So many disputes?”
“This is just the ones matching your skills.”
Real-life Overnus Pharmaceuticals was like warring VTuber fandoms trying to kill each other.
That’s why, up to 1st-run Day 7, the work never dried up once.
Even racked up 9pt in challenge points!
And so.
Safely reaching Day 8 after downing 2-3 life-or-death bouts daily like vitamins.
Eiming, in a dress, elegantly lifted his teacup with his fingertips and said.
“Rowen, if you bear the Heavenly Mandate… it’s gotta be the instinct for slaughter. Guys like you who never pass up a fight are rare even in this scene.”
“Ahh, back in middle school, everyone called me the Seventh Night Killer.”
“Kuhat! That’s a perfect nickname for my lil’ bro.”
I replied, with a big ribbon perched on my head.
As you can see, it’s a rare fun extracurricular hour.
Missions matter, but first off, I’m a spy—I need to bring decent results to Ceres Madam too.
But Eiming doesn’t seem interested in using the Project Z docs…
“Bro, about those Project Z documents. You’re still holding onto them, right?”
“Hm? Yeah, but why bring it up suddenly?”
“You’ll keep them safe, yeah?”
“Of course. Why ask outta nowhere?”
Now Eiming didn’t even suspect me with direct questions.
No way the sole sub-member could be a mole, apparently.
Time to gather extra intel on the side.
“I remembered you saying before that Project Z had Awakening Serum Z from True Ancestor blood or whatever. So what’s a True Ancestor?”
“True Ancestor, huh… Been a while since I heard that.”
Eiming’s eyes darkened softly.
This punk’s posing like a brooding type again.
“Rowen, you heard of the Foundation?”
“The R.C.D. Foundation?”
“Yeah. Before the coup collapsed it and it split into Overnus Pharmaceuticals and Twilight Resource Development. The Foundation ruled Necropolis.”
I’d heard Ceres Madam’s family got wiped out when the Foundation fell.
But this was new.
“The one who ruled the Foundation until the coup dethroned them was the Tsukimiya Family Head. The Sole Red Moon. In other words, the True Ancestor.”
“So Tsukimiya Family Head = Sole Red Moon = True Ancestor? That’s a lot of flair.”
“That’s what makes it cool.”
Damn, Eiming.
Cross-dressing fool actually knows his stuff sometimes.
“What’s Project Z got to do with the True Ancestor?”
“Just my guess, but…”
Eiming trailed off.
“The True Ancestor isn’t dead. She’s sealed at Twilight Resource Development HQ. Probably those failed projects were experiments to control her. It’s been their long-time pipe dream.”
Things are connecting now.
What I saw during Project Z wasn’t zombies—it was ghouls or something?
Worldbuilding’s a genre mishmash, but weirdly true to genre tropes.
“What do they want with controlling the True Ancestor?”
“Dunno. Wanna become vampires or something?”
“You don’t know either, bro?”
“How the hell would I know the schemes of those slimy bastards?”
True Ancestor’s so ancient, even Eiming’s intel is thin.
Hm, not quite satisfying.
“If you’re that curious, want me to dig up docs and summarize?”
“Y-You’d do that? Bro! Thank you!”
“Punk, it’s no big deal.”
This is genuinely appreciated!
Today’s tea party ended on a pretty fruitful, informative note.
3.
Right after tea, I took a request from Eiming and headed to E Sector.
“Ugh, sleepy.”
Time had long passed midnight, and I’d already knocked out one gig today.
“Sleepy? Time for Red Bull!”
Dope up with that favor sports corp energy drink I’d saved from before.
“Grrraaah…! That’s the stuff.”
This Sedric body was purebred young master—takes caffeine like a champ.
Anyway.
Today’s last shift should be a breeze.
Per Eiming: flyer-posting difficulty.
‘The Golden Carp bastards stashed something in E Sector. Super suspicious. No proper guards, and it’s been sitting abandoned for nearly a month?’
‘Looks like the cocky punks were developing new drugs to flood E Sector. Drug trade’s our Phantom Ghost Clan turf.’
‘After Project Z nearly blew up, E Sector surveillance ramped up, so they paused. Let’s swipe it quick before then.’
Roughly that kind of mission.
Wandering through filthy back alleys, I reached the spot marked on Eiming’s map.
“This the place for real?”
No matter how I looked, it didn’t scream “hiding something important.”
Like one of those dingy slum shacks from my old bachelor days?
“Smoke and mirrors, huh?”
Or they were in a real rush.
Hm, been a while since I did this.
-Bam!
“FBI!!! OPEN UP!!!!”
Kicked in the rickety door.
A puff of stale dust, and inside: predictably bare-bones shack.
No signs of life, no furniture, not even the ‘item.’
“No way! Nothing here?!”
Might’ve been stumped before, but…
Lately it’s all similar gigs, so I’m hooked on detective games.
-Creak!
Pried up a suspiciously loose floorboard: hatch leading underground.
Spiral iron staircase plunging deep.
“Come to me, death.”
Loaded Death Verdict with a cool incantation.
Readied for combat as I descended.
-Clang clang clang
Boots on iron steps echoed deeply.
The basement was way deeper and wider than expected.
Rusted pipes snaked along the walls like snakes, cold water pooling ankle-deep on the floor.
No guards, no locks, no traps.
Just a lone container in the middle like a deserted island.
-Screeech!
“‘Scuse the intrusion~.”
Container wasn’t locked.
Popped the latches: suitcase inside.
Knew it wasn’t ordinary right away.
Seamless smooth metal surface.
Side had a small dial like a pressure gauge instead of a zipper.
“Hmm… why so suspicious.”
Suspicious enough I had to open it. Curiosity’s killing me!
“Unboxing time!”
Fiddled with the locks casually.
-Hiss!
White, icy vapor billowed out.
And inside…
“…No ice clinger.”
A frail, birdlike woman curled small, breathing softly with eyes closed.
“This time it’s Boy Meet Girl?!”
Stop mixing genres already!!!