The First Guest

Back at the workshop, the first thing I did was eat. I'd been working long enough that I could feel my stamina starting to flag — this frail body of mine burned through energy all the faster the longer I stayed focused.

For now, I decided to try the nutrient jelly the shopkeeper had thrown in as a bonus.

Compared to the nutrient tubes — dry, greasy things that felt ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like swallowing oil-soaked biscuit dough — the jelly was far more palatable. It was so bland it was practically colorless and odorless, with no taste whatsoever, but at least it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠didn't make me want to vomit from the grease.

The price is just too steep, though.

I'd snuck a glance at the display earlier. It looked like it cost nearly twice as much. Still, feeding a body with Starvation Constitution meant high-calorie food was the smarter investment. Once I started making some real money, switching over to nutrient jelly would be the way to go.

...Though if I was being honest, the fact that it was actually edible accounted for about ninety percent of that decision. Living off nutrient tubes alone was no way for a human being to exist.

I felt a little sorry for all my characters back in Fusion Punk who'd survived on nothing but nutrient-tube spam-clicks.

Once I'd filled my stomach, I pulled out the coat I'd bought along with the rest of my clothes. It was, by a wide margin, the most expensive thing I'd purchased — the final piece of equipment I needed to complete the external battery.

"Let's see here."

First, I needed a space on the inside of the coat where I could mount and secure the external battery. A simple pocket, patched together from a scrap of fabric, would do. I started stitching a piece of cloth onto the coat's lining with Mana Thread, and the fabric sewn in place made a perfectly serviceable pocket.

But the moment my mana thread dissipated, that pocket would fall right off.

That was exactly what this was for.

Originally, it was a low-tier healing spell for sealing torn skin and closing open wounds. The truth was, in the world of Fusion Punk — where high-performance nano-treatments and full prosthetic replacements were available to anyone with the cash — recovery mages were considered the worst possible investment. A trash build, abandoned by everyone. Maintaining a high-tier healer cost far more than just buying treatment packs as you needed them.

But I had discovered a new synergy between mana thread and Suture Healing.

You force the seams of a broken part or a piece of material together with mana thread, then cast Suture Healing over the join.

The system registers the mana-thread binding as a stitched wound. Then Suture Healing's mechanism kicks in, and the seam fuses together as if it had been welded. The mana cost and the skill's required level scaled with the material and the size of the join, but stitching a scrap of cloth like this didn't demand much of anything.

The seam between the coat's lining and the added fabric melted together, fusing as smoothly as if they had always been a single piece. Even after I withdrew the mana thread, the pocket sat flush against the lining, solid as could be.

"Nice. Pocket's perfect."

Using the same synergy of mana thread and Suture Healing, I started stitching mana-conductive copper wire into the coat. A mana circuit, running from the battery mount on the inside, across both shoulders, down the inner walls of the sleeves, all the way to the wrists.

The situation where this body would burn the most mana was, inevitably, when I was working with Mana Thread and Suture Healing at my fingertips. I'd still have to draw from the heart for the Demon Eye of Spell Breaking, but for anything I did with my hands, I could pull mana from the battery instead.

"Last step…"

I tapered the end of the copper wire I'd run to the cuff, drawing it fine with telekinesis, then looked down at my left wrist.

Even the underclass of Gaon Mega City came with a minimum biological circuit installed as standard — which was how you checked the time, your citizen ID, your bank account, all from the wrist. There was no need to risk punching a new channel. Overlay a mana circuit that connected to the existing bio-circuit, fabricate a terminal for the copper wire, and fuse it on with Suture Healing. Done.

"Hah… it's finished."

The name I'd given it playing the game solo was the Mana Induction Coat. Was this enough to call it a prototype?

The terminal I'd built onto my wrist looked a little awkward… but in a world where people cut off their own arms and replaced them with prosthetics, a modification this small was nothing.

I gave the finished coat a shake and pulled it on. A ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠little roomy, but the way it wrapped from the shoulder line down through the sleeves felt pretty convincing.

"I've got that pretty-boy look going, so the coat actually sits rather well on me."

I slipped the half-charged battery into the pocket and powered it up. Then, slowly, I focused my awareness on my fingertips and drew mana from the battery.

"Hmm… a little disappointing."

The sensation of mana traveling from my wrist to my finger joints wasn't entirely smooth.

"Some mana leakage, huh…"

A consequence of the copper wire's low conductivity. There was room to upgrade once I got my hands on better materials.

Once I make some money, I'll get high-purity silver thread or mana-stone conductive filament and build a new one.

Still, this should be enough that I wouldn't collapse from overflow in the middle of a job.

I checked the time, just in case there was a problem with the bio-circuit — and nearly jumped.

It's already past seven in the evening?

And right as that thought crossed my mind—

The door slammed open.

The door had flown open so suddenly I assumed the old man was back.

"Sir! You're back already?"

I still hadn't finished organizing the interior, hadn't managed to make a single proper piece of work. Maybe I could show him the Mana Induction Coat and talk my way through it. That was what I was thinking as I looked toward the entrance.

A clatter of metal on metal.

What came through the door wasn't Old Man Gordon at all — it was a woman in form-fitting leather, silver-white hair and a crimson prosthetic eye catching the light as she tumbled inside, half-covered in blood.

She saw me and seemed just as startled, raising her firearm. Clearly she hadn't expected anyone to be here.

"You… who the hell are you?"

The hand holding the gun was shaking badly. The prosthetic on her right arm and the pistol gripped in that hand looked like they'd been made as a matching set.

Looks like a Cheonroe product.

Cheonroe. A mega-corporation that manufactured the equipment every player wanted most when they went down a mana-firing build — one of the true giants among the mega-corps. The mana-firing build was what Fusion Punk players called a man's romance: one of the high-firepower fantasies. Instead of burning through physical ammunition like a conventional firearm, it drew mana from the user's own body, concentrated it in the acceleration coils inside the prosthetic, and discharged high-density compressed mana rounds through the gun. Unlimited ammunition. Devastating firepower. Impact that felt incredible. The drawbacks, however, were just as clear.

The mana recoil and heat dumped into the mana circuits at the moment of discharge were utterly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠insane. Without a decent recoil-suppression prosthetic, your entire arm would blow apart as a matter of course. And the mega-corp that produced, on a dedicated line, the highest-grade prosthetics and mana-firing firearms designed to endure that monstrous recoil and overload — that was Cheonroe.

She's wearing a high-end prosthetic like that, and her arm is still shaking?

"Where's… Gordon… nngh…"

This door wasn't something just anyone could open. I'd examined the inside myself — the structure was enormously complex. Being able to open it meant she had a key. And that meant she was an acquaintance of Old Man Gordon's.

"I'm a technician hired by Old Man Gordon. Come inside for now."

I got an arm around her and helped her further in, to the spot where I'd slept the night before.

"Hhgh… nngh…"

Rough, ragged breathing, and a thick stench of blood rolling off her.

Heavier than I expected.

Maybe it was the weight of the prosthetic she was wearing. Or maybe this body of mine was just too weak.

She leaned against the wall and barely managed to catch her breath. The eyes she kept locked on me were still full of wariness.

"Gordon hired a technician? I've never seen your face."

Gordon, huh. The way she said it — casual, familiar, not the "sir" or "old man" most people used — they had to be close.

"To be precise, I'm closer to a tenant renting this space. I stay here and do the work Old Man Gordon assigns me."

"You're… Gordon's new apprentice, aren't you?"

That made me flinch, and I denied it immediately.

"I am absolutely not an apprentice. I'm a hired technician."

"What? Every technician who works under Gordon is an apprentice… gh— ghh!"

She'd been about to snort a laugh at the absurdity of it, but a spark leapt from her right shoulder and she screamed, clutching her arm.

So the prosthetic was broken after all.

A woman who'd come into the building wearing a broken, expensive prosthetic. This… was a customer. And one who looked like she had money. Enormous amounts of it.

"Would you mind if I took a look at that arm?"