Chapter 74
Chapter 74
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 73
Chapter Title: How to Survive in Fusion Punk
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Raids were great, but what the group really needed right now was rest.
Fatigue had hit its absolute peak after one grueling fight after another.
They looked just like soccer players collapsing flat on the spot after a brutal ninety-minute match, the instant the final whistle blew.
If he had his way, he'd snap his mental leash and crash for a solid sleep.
But nope—too much shit to handle first.
Treat the wounds, stuff some obligatory food down, take stock of the mess.
So Maximo rummaged through his bag.
Ointments to smear on, pills to pop, syringes to jab deep.
He kept pulling out all sorts, divvying them up among the group.
"Not freebies. I'll send the bill later."
Every time he handed something over, he'd tack on that line—dead serious or total joke, who knew?—and Jin couldn't help thinking to himself:
Cheapskate Doraemon. Bald edition.
Anyway, treatments wrapped up.
The group started in on their meager chow.
Chocolate bars, jerky, nuts—the works.
They crammed in the high-calorie stuff, but every motion, every expression screamed mechanical.
Forced it down, like it was a chore. The vibe was thick.
Couldn't be helped.
When you're wiped out like that, your appetite tanks hard.
Appetite's the least of it?
Stress fucks your digestion too.
Feels all bloated and queasy after choking it down, but whatever.
To keep fighting, gotta fuel up.
Exceptions apply, though.
Unlike the rest forcing bites past their lips, Jin's appetite was going strong despite the pain.
He polished off his share and still wanted more—hit Maximo up for a hefty tab of combat rations.
Koreans run on rice power.
Chanting that to himself while cracking open a can of... well, truth was, half right, half bullshit.
Sure, Koreans were dead serious about rice—greeting folks with "Eaten yet?" and parting ways with "Grab a bite sometime?"
But they weren't the type to keep shoveling it in while a raging fever made their head spin.
Only Jin could pull that reckless stunt.
"Huu."
After demolishing seven packs of rations, he leaned against the wall and patted his gut.
The old man stared him down, unblinking.
"Something to say?"
Jin turned his head and asked.
Couldn't ignore a stare that blatant.
And the reply?
"Teaming up with a lowlife thief like you boils my blood."
The hell? Outta nowhere beef?
Jin scowled, then blew a raspberry snort.
"Pot calling the kettle? You're holed up here 'cause you pulled crimes too, right? Should've stayed straight."
The old man's brows twitched.
Hazy rage flickered in his nearly blind right eye and half-shot left one.
"This is my kingdom."
"Not squatter's rights?"
"Insolent whelp...!"
The old man's palms drew together like he was about to pray.
The group flinched—memories of that explosive clap fresh—dropping into fight stances, but Jin cut in, looking beat.
"Save the energy. We need each other right now."
"......"
The old man grimaced like it was for show.
But he never clapped—just let his arms drop and shot to his feet, turning away.
"I'll be back."
With that, the old man whooshed out of the cavern.
Made the caster bail?
The floating light winked out into the dark, so Maximo flicked on his portable lamp and dialed the brightness.
Then whooshed out a pent-up breath.
"...Thought you two were gonna throw down again."
Muttering that, he eyed Jin.
"Hey. What if that old psycho snaps and goes berserk?"
"He'll be fine. Like Jin said, he needs us."
Natasha—back to one piece somehow—picked up the thread.
"Remember the vampire talk? 'Usurper,' he called 'em. Swore revenge on the bastard who stole his throne. Not just empty king talk—he believes it. Stuck in these tunnels over thirty years... wonder how warped his grip on reality's gotten..."
She trailed off.
Meantime, the mercenary—who'd been peeking cues—piped up cautiously.
"Th-there more survivors out there?"
"Who knows. Hope not another headcase like you, man."
"......"
Maximo smirked at the wilted merc.
"Anyway, sack out, everyone. No clue when the crazy coot drags back, but recover stamina till then. Watches first?"
So they rock-paper-scissored the watch order.
Jin drew third.
Cold sweat streamed down.
Foul sensation bubbling up from inside.
Endless thirst, blood crooning eternal night—it raced through six thousand kilometers of veins.
He could see the tens of millions of red blood cells swept up in that crimson torrent.
Those saucer-shaped red discs, dimpled in the center. Then, abruptly, the core split wide—like a grin.
Needle teeth sprouted within, and millions of crimson faces screamed in unison.
"Hk."
Jin snapped his eyes open.
Someone was shaking his shoulder.
His turn already?
Mind foggy like he'd pounded booze, he hauled himself up somehow and slumped against the wall.
"...Good shift. Your turn to crash."
He licked his parched lips and tossed it out, but the other just stared silently.
Voice that raspy, huh?
Hating to show weakness, Jin cleared his throat and repeated.
"Hit the sack."
Then the silhouette across the way edged toward the light.
Shadows peeled back slow.
Jin's brow creased.
"You..."
"Bro, you okay?"
That face—too damn familiar.
"Project Neo's that fun, huh?"
The one who'd nagged him endlessly: Just try it once.
Called "Ttora" way more than his actual name.
College junior.
Close bro.
And now...
"Fun, right?"
Beaming that same cheeky grin, full of easy charm.
"Told ya. Complicated up front, but get the hang? Best game out there. Street Rat build slaps. Even total noobs cruise mid-game on it."
"Bullshit..."
Jin huffed a hollow laugh. Head throbbed. Headache ramping, tinnitus drowning everything.
"Shoulda told you to start guild or corp. Swap the trait too. Prodigy? Shit, that was solid. What was it... 'Innate Talent'?"
"Nah, drop the old talk. Mr. Street Rat."
The bro snickered.
Jin chuckled back.
The grinning red blood cells roared with laughter too.
"Gotta focus now. Digging up the past just breeds regrets."
"Walk a day in my shoes. See if regrets don't stick."
"Sheesh."
Bro scratched his nape, awkward as hell.
Just like when Jin snapped, Army dropout—what do you know? That exact face.
Later, after discharge news, congratulated him—what'd he say?
'Nothin' special.'
As Jin's eyes blinked misty, chasing memories...
Bro flashed that warm grin again.
"Perfect shot at a fresh start then. Reborn, boom."
"Huh?"
"One sec."
Guy dug into his pocket, fished out a neat rectangle—like handing a business card.
"Saw that vamp's regen, right? Blood mist, bats—topping off HP nonstop. Real pain."
"......"
"Saying goes: Don't waste time fixing flaws. Amp your strengths. That's you to a T. Irregular recovery plus True Blood? And you resist?"
Bro kept yapping, nonstop.
Just like back then.
When he pitched Project Neo.
Jin skeptical on the genre, so bro rattled off every pro.
How'd that end for me again?
Jin let out a deflating chuckle.
Then the voice:
"Just say yes?"
Jin lifted his head slow.
"......Fuck off."
What he saw: torn grin stretching ear to ear, crimson oval.
It spoke.
At the same time, a shake on his shoulder—eyes flew open.
"...Jin? Jin, you good?"
Worried tone.
Bonus: icy hand on his fevered brow.
"Burning up bad. No choice—sleep more."
Natasha eased back careful.
Meanwhile, Jin—already propped up rumpled—spoke up.
"I'm fine."
"Fine folks don't run this hot?"
"No big. Missed the gut hole sealing up?"
"Still..."
"Crash already. Don't wake the rest."
He hijacked the watch spot by force, arms crossed quiet.
Dead ahead: ticking digits lined up crisp.
The old man—Damir—returned to the cavern right as Jin finished his full shift and roused the group.
"Plenty rested by now."
And so began their odd alliance, united by a shared foe.
Goal: hunt survivors.
Truth? Slim odds, even being generous.
Stone sarcophagi popped a fortnight back; tunnels drowned in creepy dark ten days ago. How many clawed through that span?
Flip side: snag even one, and they'd be gold.
Surviving this hell meant legit chops.
Sure, might be loony like that merc. Cross that bridge later.
Thus, under the self-crowned king (read: nutjob)'s lead, the survivor-for-survivors op rolled out methodical.
Meantime, Jin's shape tanked harder.
"Bro."
Issue: this fucker popping faces from the gloom constant.
Creepy enough solo-retaining human tones in pitch black; shoving remaining time each time? Torture.
"Fifteen hours left."
Hallucinations grind you down.
Pretend-ignore? No schizophrenia in the world.
"Ugh. Rot stink. Few days dead? Nearby corpses charred black—pyrokinetic, looks like... Put up a fight, shame it flopped."
"Bro dug Human Torch, yeah? Why no psyker build? Self-immolation fits your vibe better anyway."
Jin blanked him.
Answer and it'd loop forever—not to mention that grin could flash crimson any sec.
More trudging silence.
"Oho, survivor! Chameleon beastman. Gross. Camo-hid good, huh? Miles better than those tongue-flicking morons."
"Eleven hours left, by the way."
Wall-nook camouflaged chameleon beastman tagged in.
Did the intro. Name? Blank.
Just: Level 4 Solo.
And his team's lone wolf. That much stuck fuzzy.
Quick breather.
Spacing into the void, then—bam—something hijacking bro-face plunks ass beside.
Instant: thick blood reek slammed him.
Centuries of layered death perfume.
"Bro, just take it. Best for all. Stubborn to death—what's left? Darwin Award at best."
Jin stonewalled, hauled up.
Parked near the group after, bullshitted time away.
Maximo gushed passionate on his artifact hunt, sounded like.
Turned around—poof, gone from memory.
The hell. What was...
No dice. Search rebooted.
Marched that long disused train tunnel, on and on.
Didn't take long: fresh survivor.
Tech: mid-chase. Quick save—Underheart crew.
Grump old man cracked his first smile.
"Mole fucks. Act all buddy-buddy. Criminal trash still. Oh, bro deaf? Blade guy. Top cold steel in Underheart."
Deaf treatment, but couldn't protest.
Bro-face sharpening = rest of sight fogging white.
His voice crystal = others gooey underwater mush.
"Eight hours, FWIW."
Group pressed.
Rests, searches piled—nabbed two more: full-body implant merc, Underheart mage.
Wild: enemies, but propping each other through the black.
Red dome beside narrated.
Sometime back, not even bro-face anymore.
"Three hours."
Finally, crew turned toward the underground ruins.
Boosted by four extra bodies.
After smashing repeated corpse rushes, morale soared.
"Guk!"
Scream out the blue.
Underheart mage—chest skewered—flailed mid-air feet.
Kwachik! Blood kin clutched the pulped heart, arm whipping wide.
"......All mustered here. Perfect."
Pale mug swung group-ward; all braced for brawl.
Sole exception: Jin, eyes elsewhere.
Blood-puddle humanoid.
True Blood source cracked its torn maw.
With the voice, floor blood bubbled fierce.
Same beat: ceiling unleashed blood-falls every which way—world flushed scarlet, yanking Jin's senses loose from reality.
Left standing: nose-assault blood stench, Red Sea chill just from facing it.
Center: blood form slow-spread both arms.
That instant—explosive brain lightning erupted from Jin's frame.
Bright enough to flash the surrounds.
Gray eyes lifted slow, thunder crackling.
Air-ripping whooshes chained—Jin closed on the blood horror.
Then unloaded every ounce of pent rage, full-tilt skull-smash.
Kwarung!
Savage thunderclap; swelling air detonated outward.
Jin snarled right through his plunged fist.
"I'm Jin. Was before. Am now. Always will be! Got it, you hemoglobin fuck?!"
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