Chapter 83
Chapter 83
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 82
Chapter Title: How to Survive in Fusion Punk
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Vrooooom-!!
The Manticore let out a long roar.
Early morning.
A bike sliced coolly through the ink-blue dawn haze blanketing the streets like fog, passing blocks both large and small before suddenly slowing down.
The rider kicked out the side stand with his foot and dismounted.
Jin turned his head as he removed his helmet, his gaze immediately flicking across the street.
What caught his eye was one of Downtown's infamous eyesores.
Stray Stadium!
Built to be a massive arena holding up to 50,000 spectators, construction had naturally ground to a halt amid the family and corporate wars.
Left abandoned for decades with only the steel framework complete, it had been reborn as a horrific monstrosity that could give you tetanus just by looking at it.
And it was located far north, even from Junk Plaza—what could barely pass as Downtown's commercial district—a truly forsaken spot where few people ventured.
Jin had come all the way to a place he wouldn't normally touch for one reason.
Elina's concert was happening here.
According to Kalifa, with no proper cultural facilities in Downtown, this was the only spot that could handle a large crowd.
Once the venue was confirmed, the city hall had supposedly rushed in some repairs—
But what passion could demoted bureaucrats possibly have?
Calling it repairs was generous.
In reality, it was just a half-hearted patch job on whatever could be salvaged—a showy bit of CPR that barely qualified as construction.
Not only had the capacity been slashed to around 2,000, but there were no amenities inside or out, leaving a wild, untamed landscape.
It reminded Jin of his hometown festival, infamous for shoddy management and poor facilities that had embarrassed the nation on the world stage.
"...I'm never coming back here."
As Jin shook his head at the shameful raw underbelly of his own neighborhood and started toward the stadium,
"Jin?"
His head turned naturally at the familiar voice from behind his shoulder.
There, familiar faces came into view.
D'Andre and Hooker.
And even Greg?
What the hell? This suspicious trio.
Jin's face lit with puzzlement when
"You here to watch too?"
D'Andre grinned as he asked,
That thick hand holding—what, a glow stick?
"......"
These guys are the real deal.
Jin drew a line at the thick aura of die-hard fandom wafting from the trio before him.
"I'm here for work."
"...Work? Oh, security."
Jin was convinced he needed to keep his words sparse as he watched D'Andre nod regretfully.
A brief silence followed.
It was an awkward hush laced with inexplicable embarrassment—none of them had expected to run into acquaintances here.
Of course, Jin had the excuse of work, so he felt it less.
Thus, he launched a preemptive strike at Greg, who was pretending not to notice.
"You too, huh?"
"Yeah. I heard the external security for this concert is all Level 4 Solos and up. Since I'm restarting as a Solo myself, I wanted to see who they are with my own eyes. Call it motivation from peers."
The guy rattled it off without missing a beat, a fluorescent glow stick just like D'Andre's in his hand.
"...Concert's tomorrow. This is rehearsal."
"Twice is better than once. Like you."
This bastard's got a sharp tongue?
Jin unwittingly nodded, overwhelmed by Greg's fluent banter—proof he'd fully recovered from the tunnel ordeal.
"Y-yeah. Anyway, I'm heading in."
"Sure." "Come on in, bro!"
Jin turned from the awkwardly waving D'Andre and deeply bowing Hooker.
Naturally, he stepped toward the stadium.
But his gait couldn't have felt more awkward.
*
"Ah, you're Jin Evernight?"
The man asking had an in-ear piece in one ear.
His fatigued face, layered with exhaustion, fixed on Jin—those eyes flickering with the artificial gleam unique to cybernetic implants.
"Confirmed. Here, take this necklace. You can't wander around without it, so don't lose it. No spares."
"Where to now?"
Jin slipped the name tag necklace around his neck as he spoke. The staffer replied,
"See that yellow tent over there? Turn right past it and go straight—you'll find the security chief......"
He gestured vaguely before turning away.
His voice shifted in an instant as he barked,
"Hey! Lights! It's tilted! Get your head in the game?!"
Jin glanced up at the struggling lights and thought,
No way that falls and causes trouble, right?
Maybe because of the security keyword.
Suspicious of everything, Jin reached the spot the staffer indicated and approached the burly guy who screamed "security chief" from his looks alone.
Even amid the bustling crowd, the man didn't miss Jin's approach and turned.
Their gazes met in midair.
Jin realized at once.
Beastman.
A strong one.
As the piercing gaze sized up his counterpart,
The man slowly opened his mouth.
"Who're you?"
"Jin Evernight. Solo."
"Hm."
The security chief nodded toward an empty plastic chair.
"Wait there quietly."
Jin's brow twitched at the high-handed tone.
What the hell's with this prick?
Does he think I'm his subordinate?
But against his inner thoughts, he meekly took the seat—
Tch, for Elina's sake, I'll endure once.
Arms crossed, he granted unasked mercy to the culprit.
Glancing around, he was surprised at how few Solos there were.
Huh?
Jin was puzzled at first, but it didn't take long to figure it out.
Well, well.
Contempt gleamed in the eyes of the passing guards.
The endlessly dragging "wait time" was just icing.
They clearly had no intention of assigning tasks from the start.
The other Solos were no exception.
Calling in outsiders and treating them like props?
Level 4 Solos, no less?
Not the type to take being ignored anywhere.
They started leaving one by one, faces twisted in disbelief at the blatant cold shoulder.
Of course, a question might arise here.
Why leave quietly?
These rude bastards deserve a lesson.
The answer came from behind Jin.
"Fuck... Malcolm, of all people."
Jin called out to the rising Solo.
"Who's Malcolm?"
"That security chief guy. Beastman who hit Tier 2 about a year ago. Was wondering where he'd get scouted—turns out he's pulling this shit here."
"Ah."
"Speaking of which, those guys are waiting for us to snap. Job seemed too easy."
He curled his upper lip in disgust, then continued to Jin.
"So, Jin, don't stick around for more crap. Let's go. We're not at their level."
"You know me?"
"Who doesn't?"
The Solo nodded as if it were obvious, patting his waist.
Jin's eyes naturally followed—to a familiar pistol holstered on his belt.
Model starting with R&D...
"Bought it after seeing your vid. Fixed-bayonet full-auto handgun."
"Oh."
Jin extended his hand unthinkingly.
They shook warmly, exchanging grins.
But briefly.
The Solo hardened again.
"Anyway, I'm out. Don't overthink it."
He turned and strode away.
Jin shrugged at the receding back, locking eyes with a guard throwing a "You leaving too?" glare before rising.
Of course, he patted the turning guard's shoulder and walked past his furious face.
His direction was completely opposite the departed Solo.
Naturally.
Jin had no intention of leaving.
He was the type whose itch wasn't scratched until he finished what he started (reason be damned), and nailing this job might unlock another constellation.
Thus, payback for petty slights could wait.
They weren't assigning anything anyway.
Using the name tag as a shield, Jin began patrolling the venue.
Meanwhile, on the stage where rehearsal had begun, a pleasant voice echoed.
"Wow. She's good."
Amazed by the live performance matching the recordings perfectly,
Bzzz—
A vibration hit his chest. Jin pulled out his device, checked the sender, and answered.
"Kalifa?"
[Jin. At the venue?]
"Yeah. Rehearsal just started."
[Heard. They're treating you like shit. I wouldn't have sent you if I'd known. Come out now. I'll line up something better.]
"Nah. I said I'd do it."
Jin ducked under rust-encrusted steel beams as he replied.
"By the way, Kalifa. Got a question."
[What?]
"If something goes down at the concert, what'd it be?"
[Worst-case scenario?]
"Something like that."
[You've had a bad feeling since yesterday. Spooky.]
A thoughtful hum followed, then,
[Hmm, given the place, probably collapse risk?]
Jin grabbed and shook a nearby beam.
"Anything else?"
[Terrorist in the crowd?]
"Hope it's not D'Andre."
[What? He's there too?]
"Came with the office crew."
[...Anyway, Elina is pretty cute.]
Jin brushed rust from his hands.
"Any other ideas?"
[Jin? Be honest. This some writing contest?]
Kalifa laughed, and Jin chuckled along.
"Just curiosity."
[Alright. How about this: Elina and her whole team turn out to be Black Mages. They sacrifice the audience—bloodbath across Downtown with a spell claiming 2,000 lives. Score?]
"60 points."
[Why?]
"Capacity'd be over 12,000."
[...12,000? Jin, sometimes I have no clue what you're on about.]
Her voice was bright despite the sigh—like she enjoyed bantering with her Solo.
[Lower the stakes?]
"Quick on the uptake."
[...Lemme think.]
As Kalifa pondered,
Thud!
Jin had just memorized the venue layout and was heading back when someone rushing by slammed into his shoulder.
They stumbled forward like they'd hit a car.
"Whoa."
As Jin reflexively reached out,
"Elina! Elina! Damn it!"
A booming-fat man from behind the stage whipped his head around, voice like he'd swallowed a foghorn.
"Fuck! Where'd she go?!"
Jin shifted his gaze from the gum-chewing scowl to the fallen figure—hmm?
A silhouette darting toward the stadium corner.
"...?"
Jin followed with long strides,
While Kalifa continued on the line.
[How's this: Elina awakens as a Psyker mid-concert. A monster emitting A-rank or higher waves.]
[Psyker powers lurk in the subconscious, undetectable till awakening. Who knows? Maybe Elina's got massive potential matching her talent.]
[Score?]
Jin couldn't answer.
He'd spotted a woman crouched in the corner, trembling violently.
"Call you back."
He hung up and approached cautiously.
"H-hey? Elina, right?"
"D-don't come closer!"
A pale hand slapped the wall toward him.
Jin raised both palms in response.
If she meant no approach,
He signaled no hostility.
"Got it. Calm down."
"Ahh—"
Veins bulged on the hand clutching her hair.
Shivering like cold seeped to her bones, already hyperventilating.
Jin furrowed his brow.
Just watching tightened his own chest.
Wasn't this how he shook when black waves threatened to swallow him?
He knew the drowning man's panic better than most.
"It's okay. Someone's here. Real. Not going anywhere."
With soothing words, he inched closer like a fencer.
Yet Elina's tremors worsened.
"Ahh, ahhhh!!!"
As her tightly shut eyelids fluttered, pupils swirling like beholding cosmic voids,
Grab—
A large hand enveloped hers.
"Hey."
Did the skin-transmitted warmth reach her?
"...Ah?"
Elina struggled her lids open, capturing Jin in her hazy vision.
"W-who...?"
"Me? Your bodyguard. Also a fan. Brand new one. Fresh, right? Oh, goal's an autograph. For the wall at home."
"......"
She stared blankly before snapping to, shaking her head side to side.
"D-did I hurt anyone?"
"Doesn't seem so."
"Good... good."
Jin released her hand as she slumped in relief.
Glancing aside,
"Here he comes."
No sooner said, the bellowing fat man arrived with a horde of guards.
To avoid misunderstanding, Jin stepped back two paces. The interloper yelled,
"You! Where the hell you running off to? Crazy bitch?"
Then checked Jin's tag and snarled,
"Back to your post!"
"Tch."
Jin snorted and walked off.
Feeling lime-green eyes from behind the bulk, he waved once—guards glaring daggers beside.
He wanted to deck them, but the strong show mercy.
A Level 5 like me spares Level 4s.
Jin left the scene.
Glancing back on impulse,
"...Tch. Something smells fishy."
His eyes narrowed at Elina and the entourage.
A day passed.
Concert day arrived.
Elina in the waiting room staunchly refused the drugs.
The uncontrollable terror flooding her mind had overcome the addiction.
But her body began quaking like an aspen leaf in trade.
The watching fat man—no, producer—stood.
"Fucking bitch."
He pulled a drug pouch from his pocket with vulgar curses, popped the capsule, and dumped it into a glass.
"Hey. Grab this bitch."
Guards rushed at his command, pinning Elina.
"Let go!"
Her tearing scream did nothing; their grips only tightened.
"Let's make this easy. Yeah?"
The producer swirled the glass with a dipped finger, seized her cheek, and force-fed the liquid.
Then clamped her jaw shut, pinched her nose.
She went limp amid struggles. He spat on the floor.
"...Fucking hell."
Wiping sweat from his brow with his knuckles, he muttered,
"Rebellion's getting worse. After the tour, implant a port in her skull. Reset her or something. Fuck. Tried controlling with drugs 'cause her body's rejecting implants hard. She's gone full psycho."
Casually voicing human erasure, he turned to a guard.
"How long till showtime?"
"......"
"How long?"
"......"
"Answer me! You all lost it?"
Then.
Something rolled to the irate producer's feet.
"...What?"
His gaze dropped to an unfamiliar object.
A red orb.
Trailing red from its path—was that a vein?
Chilled inexplicably, he recoiled and looked up.
Elina stared blankly.
Expressionless face.
Empty eyes.
Since when had she stood?
The question flashed through his mind.
And that was the last.