Chapter 21
Chapter 21
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: How to Survive in Fusionpunk
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Five more days slipped by.
During that time, Jin...
Just ate, slept, and shat.
But there were reasons for that, his own justifications.
For one, productive activity was tough right now. Jin was still a patient.
He might look clean and handsome on the outside, but his body was a total ragdoll that had barely patched itself together. Any strain made him yelp here and groan there, tears practically squirting out.
This was one of the few times in his life his condition had hit rock bottom, so he didn't ignore his body's signals screaming for rest. That was reason number one.
Reason two was the location.
The whole building was a Resistance base, so security was everywhere you looked.
He couldn't wander around alone.
Luckily, he was a merc who'd ridden the same boat by completing their commission. Otherwise, even staying here wouldn't have been allowed.
So what could he do about the restrictions? As a guy mooching off them, he just had to suck it up.
Thus, the only place Jin could relax comfortably was the same as always: one corner of the treatment room, on that rock-hard bed that dug into his back.
He had no choice but to spend all day lying there, counting down to mealtimes like some moldy shut-in.
End of excuses.
Ah, breakfast's here.
Jin lit up at the sight of the food on his plate.
Bacon, omelet, hash browns, sausage, toast.
Not a single greasy item missing—a perfectly satisfying menu.
If only there'd been some spicy kimchi and refreshing dongchimi to balance the richness...
Pushing aside that unfillable regret, Jin started inhaling his meal.
The food vanished at a visible rate. "Inhaling" was spot on.
A mystifying sight no matter how many times you saw it. A true wonder of the world.
Albus, standing nearby, spoke up.
"How do you eat like you starved for three days every meal? If that's a talent, it's a talent."
"This place does hospital food right."
"Say it after you swallow. It's spraying everywhere."
From experience, Albus knew Jin could demolish a plate in under a few minutes, so he kept it short.
And exactly one minute later.
A hearty burp rang out like an alarm clock.
Albus naturally opened his mouth.
"Heard you're heading out today. That right?"
"What? Who told you?"
"Who else? Your doctor."
"Ah."
Only then did Jin remember that in this whole building, only two people actually talked to him like real conversations.
Ben at least opened his mouth sometimes, but he was down in the garage.
What the hell. Even in a place crawling with people, he was still living with cobwebs on his lips.
Jin let out a hollow chuckle, and Albus held out a communicator toward him.
"Here."
"...?"
"Fixed?"
"No way. Circuits are totally fried—unfixable even if you brought it back to life. Got the closest match instead."
Jin, who'd been gutted over losing his communicator to that lightning spell, happily took it.
"Feels like I'm just taking stuff all the time."
"Not free. The treatment here, inhaling five servings per meal—you'll pay it all back later."
Jin knew Albus's words danced on the fuzzy line between dead serious and joking.
Pay it back later.
That implied he might work with the Resistance again someday.
"Deduct it from my next commission fee."
With that, Jin stretched grandly.
Shaking off the last dregs of his rundown feeling, he rose from the bed.
"Alright, let's go."
Of course, no grand send-off ceremony.
It was just the day a temporary ally Solo went his own way, so only Albus and Grace came to see him off.
Plus Ben, who'd shown up to check out Manticore's first ride.
Before leaving.
Exchanging numbers as a parting courtesy, Jin straddled the motorcycle.
Key in, twist, engine on.
He lightly stroked the powerfully rumbling frame, then roared off with a blast of exhaust.
Everything was fine up to that point.
Who could've guessed.
An accident not even an hour later.
"Ugh..."
Jin groaned from the pavement.
No clue how many rolls it took to stop.
His left arm was definitely broken.
No strength in it at all.
But in that moment, stronger than the pain was raw fury surging up.
Jin spat rust-tinged curses at the sky.
"You fucking... piece of..."
Jin ground his teeth.
Then, sprawled on the ground, he replayed what had just happened.
The highway linking districts.
No traffic lights, naturally.
It minimized bottlenecks and allowed high speeds, like highways anywhere. Nothing special.
The problem? The road had flaws.
Another fallout from the corporate-family wars, of course.
The construction company bailed midway.
So even a 10km stretch without a median was just how it was.
When a truck from the opposite lane suddenly crossed the center and charged, Jin startled but dodged with insane reflexes.
The issue? He didn't dodge perfectly.
Blame the status window blocking his view right then.
Talk about piling on misery. The worst luck imaginable.
And now.
Having flown dozens of meters and rolled another dozens, Jin vented at the sky—or the status window.
"You goddamn bastard! How the hell! Not even once...!"
Too pissed for proper curses, his jaw clenched, muscles bulging.
Blood rushed, and fresh crimson dripped from his split forehead—drip.
No. Calm down.
Negative... no, positive thoughts only.
I'm an Irregular.
A battle race that grows stronger overcoming death.
You watching, Kakarot?
I'm invincible.
Reconstitution is "god."
Was it the full-power cringe-fest? His rage-boiling head started cooling.
Pain rushed in to fill the void.
"Hah..."
As Jin groaned, eyeing his grotesquely bent left arm.
A click sounded, followed by footsteps approaching.
"You okay?"
Asking if someone obviously not okay was okay? Not right in the head. And that smell? Booze?
Finally, past the fading status window, he saw a disheveled old man silhouetted against the sun.
The man pinched thumb and index, making a small gap.
"If you'd just swerved a tiny bit more. Dodged clean, then flinched why?"
At the same time, fresh blood dripped from Jin's forehead—drip.
"Truck driver?"
"Yeah. That's me."
Drunk driving, huh?
The status window played a part, but the root cause was the truck busting the median.
Time to settle with fists, Jin decided, snapping his broken arm straight as he rose—
"Here, take this at least. Hic—sorry. My bad."
The boozy old-timer shoved something into Jin's hand.
A few crumpled bills of different colors.
Jin's fist went slack instantly.
Damn it.
Weak to this stuff.
Maybe from scraping by penniless. He knew better than anyone the weight of that paltry sum.
Couldn't judge it just by face value, especially from this unwashed, stench-pouring geezer.
Plus, the guy seemed a bit dim.
So Jin neither raged nor forgave—just sighed deeply.
Then tsked and spoke.
"Hey, old man. I survived because it was me, got it? Anyone else, limbs snapping like candy, shredded alive on the asphalt. So from tonight, chant 'I'm a murderer' three times before bed. Only way your conscience stops you from drunk driving."
Looking at the sloppy drunk in front of him, Jin regretted it.
Why'd he bother for this guy? His own life was iffy.
"I'm out."
Passing the old man, Jin righted the fallen Manticore.
Unlike its acrobatic owner, the bike was surprisingly intact overall.
Screen shattered, scratches and dents everywhere—total mess, sure.
"Ugh, seriously..."
Hurt worse than a brand-new phone's screen cracking day one, but what could he do?
Unless he wanted to beat up a nameless geezer, time to hit the road.
As Jin climbed back on, steeling himself.
"Hey."
The old man sidled up, slapping Jin's shoulder chummily.
"What's your name?"
"Nosy, huh. Jin. Why? Gonna buy me a meal later?"
Jin snapped sourly, but the old man grinned.
"Body's all ragdoll. Won't die of old age at this rate."
"Who you mocking? This is all 'cause of who... Whatever. Let's never meet again, yeah?"
Jin revved the engine.
Then sped off without a backward glance.
The old man watched the shrinking figure, sniffed, and returned to his truck.
As he maneuvered the median-crosser, a beep crackled over the radio.
"Ah, just a little misunderstanding."
"Nothing big. Did something sorry-worthy, but settled it fair... fixed him up and sent him off. Bet he'll thank me later. Hic. Anyway, situation?"
"What?"
"...Untraceable? Hard to buy. Facing that maniac means at least Level 6 Solo or family direct line."
The old man paused, glaring sharply into the rearview.
But only briefly.
He slowly shook his head.
"...Nah. Waste of manpower. Finish our job first."
"They're not idiots. Triple, quadruple layers. Brass won't touch this directly. Don't wanna write reports? Don't chase tails. See you later."
The radio went silent.
Fumbling the passenger seat, he snatched a bottle, flicked the cap with his thumb.
Chugged it down and floored the accelerator.
Thus, City Government Special Forces Colonel John Harrison's truck sped toward Mute Town.