Chapter 12
Chapter 12
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: Good Neighbor
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Build.
An indispensable term in any RPG.
Items, skills, stats, combinations—the whole array of growth elements.
And from them spring complex calculations like addition chains or multiplication formulas.
For modern folks whose time is worth its weight in gold, grinding through trial and error to learn a game body-first just isn't feasible.
Therefore.
Searching ahead for build guides on specific characters or classes is as natural for a gamer as chugging a Cooling Piss before diving into a plate of fire-hot tteokbokki.
Of course, everyone has their own style—a hundred people, a hundred ways.
Some just want rough guidelines.
Others hand over every decision from one to ten.
Adjusting that balance? That's all on the player.
Jin leaned toward the latter.
He fully embraced builds crammed with predecessors' hard-won know-how.
Stress-free, smooth sailing—that was the best he could pick after work drained his body and soul.
Heck, he'd been wired that way since school.
So, Project Neo?
Naturally, he'd checked the guides.
That's how he snagged the so-called zombie build: Street Rat, Irregular, Quick Recovery.
Problem was, he had no clue on the detailed progression after that.
Obviously. That's the stuff you uncover step-by-step in-game. Not cram like homework.
Why bother memorizing when Alt+Tab fixes it?
There—gamer's alibi, done.
And now.
One man plunged into his life's toughest pickle.
"...What to pick?"
Jin clutched his hair.
This beat even that time as a rookie private when the squad leader—usually buddy-buddy with the short-timers—demanded to know who was hotter, him or the vet. Answer right, or else. (Both were total psychos, FYI.)
Even topped agonizing over whether to demand his cheating girlfriend cough up those AirPods he'd gifted two days prior. (She ghosted; never got 'em.)
His head throbbed way worse right now.
A shot at unveiling whole new constellations, after all.
Close his eyes, and there they were: clusters of stars, sparked from that burned-out one. Jin swept over them and let out a massive sigh.
"They all look solid..."
One perk did snag his eye extra hard, though.
[Psychic], the one hinting at superpowers.
Telepathy, pyrokinesis—top-shelf stars begging to shine on him, branching out like crazy.
M Corp's superheroes that once gripped the world? All psychic types.
Impossible not to eye it.
Yet Jin held back from unlocking Psychic. One reason: zero hands-on experience.
For Jin—who trusted real-world grit over any textbook—that strayed outside his comfort zone.
What if he picked it and it sucked?
"No way in hell."
Even as he said it, his gaze drifted back.
Ahh, Human Torch vibes. Fire dude from Fantastic Four—my fave.
But no dice. His straight-arrow principles won out.
Only one option left anyway: something he'd endured firsthand, clearly prized across society under the banner of "bloodline."
Mana.
Jin steeled himself at last.
"Screw it."
Before his resolve softened, he shut his eyes, zeroed in on the staff-shaped constellation, and dumped all banked XP into its first star.
Lightning cracked through his skull.
"Ngh!"
Alien knowledge—insights that should've taken years of training—surged like a tsunami, whipping through every corner of his body.
The crisp rush of blockages shattering clashed with skull-splitting agony, slamming his frame with overload.
His body shuddered wild; drool poured from his mouth.
When his eyes fluttered open again.
Jin realized—too late—he'd been writhing on the floor, engulfed in blue light, oblivious.
In his hazy, wrecked mind, a fresh star chimed in sweetly.
No chance to greet it.
His last scraps of awareness sank into black.
In the end, Jin had mastered mana flow.
Like a fetus in amniotic fluid taking its first breath—screaming aside, adaptation took time.
Humans adapt, though. Before long, Jin got the hang of the weird sensations.
A few takeaways from the process.
First: firing up Mana Circuit bathed his body in a soft blue glow. Kinda pretty, actually.
Second: while active, his body felt noticeably lighter. Placebo at first? Nah—tried a casual hop, smashed his head on the ceiling beam. No illusion there.
Tangible gains? Good enough for now.
From here, he'd pick up spells one or two at a time as XP filled up.
Kalifa had said: with a Mana Circuit, mastering and wielding any magic boiled down to personal talent.
He'd worried about lacking it at first, but that was overthinking. No way he saw the head-jack of knowledge coming.
Thanks to that, Jin fired up his Mana Circuit effortlessly—no tutorials needed. Illegal mod levels, straight up.
If dead Nielsen caught sight? He'd kick off the coffin lid, howling.
Not Jin's problem.
Too damn hungry for that.
"Gonna die."
Realizing he'd fasted a full day post-blackout, Jin bolted from the motel.
Homeless folks huddled round a drum barrel slowly raised heads at his footsteps crossing the alley—then dropped eyes fast.
Memories of trying (and failing) to pick his pockets resurfaced.
"Morning."
Jin waved despite the gnawing gut, exiting the alley.
Ducked into a burger joint on a whim, set a personal record with nine Whoppers. Momentum carried him to a nearby clothier for a full set: aviation jacket, tee, pants.
Changed into the crisp threads; clock hit lunchtime.
Jin pulled his terminal, checked the texted address.
Good Neighbor.
Kalifa's gun shop rec.
Truth was, Jin never put much stock in firearms before.
Drifter with no home—maintenance was a pain.
Plus, no steady ammo budget.
Once his punches and kicks cracked skulls? Interest flatlined.
Gun in hand? Only snagged enemy drops mid-fight, used to pop the owner's forehead.
Lately, though? Mind changed.
Fenrir, right?
That wolf-head toted a sword half his height even in human form.
Blade over a meter long, swung by a 2m10cm frame? Technique irrelevant—melee didn't compute.
Range gap hopeless without equal firepower. Sacrifice an arm mindset just to close? Brutal.
Right on cue, first gig blew up.
While Nielsen sprayed spells and bullets fleeing, Jin? Just chased doggedly.
Sure, monster stats let him tank hits and catch up—but a pistol? Would've wrapped easy. Fact.
Jin scratched his molting skin, entering Junk Plaza.
Always a dizzying chaos.
This time, no wrong turns.
Downloaded a nav app.
How'd he live without this gem?
Inventor deserves a medal.
Hail the savior of fifty million directionally challenged souls.
Clutching the terminal like a Dragon Ball radar, Jin trekked awhile.
Suddenly: nav announced straight-shot, 100m to target.
Jin peeled eyes from screen, looked up.
Two buildings jammed too close birthed a side-alley.
Monstrous floor-area ratio collab: zero sunlight, shadowy dead-end cradling a two-story joint.
Red-blinking LED sign.
Good Neighbor.
Kalifa's spot, confirmed.
Pocketing the terminal, Jin clicked his tongue.
Tucked that deep? Solo legwork wouldn't cut it. Connections rule everything.
"Anyone here?"
Pushed the frosted glass door; cold steel tang hit his nose.
First sight: walls crammed floor-to-ceiling with every gun breed. Backed against it, an old man glued to a tiny screen.
"Oh! Yeah...! Whoa! This, this...!"
Exclamations nonstop—so sunk in the vid he blanked on Jin right in his face.
Jin coughed to signal, patience gone.
"Ahem—"
"Gah!"
Old man flipped the display like a high schooler caught mid-happy time.
"Who the hell're you!"
"Customer."
"Wh—when'd you sneak in?"
"Since you started moaning, pops."
Jin nodded at the flipped screen; sure enough, sultry moans leaked out.
"Whoa! Wh-why's it—"
Face beet-red, the old guy fumbled: volume down, hide it, chuck it over shoulder—total panic mode.
"Right in the zone, huh."
"Shut your trap! You saw nothin'!"
"Strongest denials since... well..."
"Enough! What d'you want?"
Old man cut him off, barking.
Jin replied coolly.
"Gun shopping. What else?"
Owner blinked at the deadpan tone, then scowled.
"Hmph! Funny guy. Told your kind already—no sales, not till dirt's in my eyes."
"What're you on about? Embarrassed, so shooing me?"
"Quit yapping and scram!"
"Sheesh."
Jin frowned.
Not acting? Some misunderstanding...
Wait—this rang bells. Classic plot.
Yeah.
Crabby shopkeep raging at punks: "Won't sell to scum like you, not ever!"
Always tangled with lowlife thugs.
Novels, comics, movies, dramas.
History proved it.
And history repeats.
Bad vibes—trouble brewing.
Jin opened his mouth quick.
"Easy now, I'll just—"
Sentence didn't finish.
Nape prickled sharp.
Body alarm—danger sensed.
Head whipped reflex-fast.
Roll...
Grenade tumbling through the open door.
Then the damn quest blotting his view.
「(Sudden!) Good Neighbor」
Protect Good Neighbor.
🎁 Reward: Perk XP 1,500
"Damn it."