Chapter 2
Chapter 2
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: The Alleyway Saintess (2)
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For over a decade, Fixer Kayla had handled every kind of job in the back alleys of Omega Detroit.
She reviewed the current request with a dissatisfied expression.
"So, to sum it up... You want a usable Grade 3 or higher citizenship ID and a place to stay for at least six months."
This wasn't a particularly tough job—any broker could handle it without breaking a sweat.
For someone like her, a renowned fixer, it was a piece of cake. But it still had to make financial sense.
However, the client—
'Flat broke? No, something's off.'
Her first impression had been that some grubby little beggar kid had wandered in here.
She didn't look like she had the means to pay for the job.
But Kayla hadn't kicked her out right away, wasting no time. She'd sensed something unusual almost immediately.
For starters, the girl's looks were striking once she removed her veil.
A stunningly pretty girl emerged from beneath the shabby sackcloth, so beautiful it was shocking.
She could've passed for an idol from a hologram ad. It was hard to believe she'd made it to this back alley in one piece.
Even Kayla, who wasn't into girls, had stared for a moment. Any average guy might've struggled to control dangerous impulses just from brushing past her hem. That explained the beggar disguise, at least.
Above all, Kayla's honed instincts told her something else.
'That's no surgery.'
Could polymers capture that kind of natural beauty?
It wasn't just a hunch. She'd discreetly scanned the girl from the entrance... and detected almost no cyberware response.
'Like a body that hadn't had even a single implant.'
But Kayla shook her head inwardly.
Impossible. Especially down here in the lower levels.
Labor conditions, economic activity, food, drink—even breathing.
The place was a sewer overflowing with trash that no pure human body could endure.
'Unless...'
She'd have to be untouched by filth from birth, never needing to work a day in her life.
Someone from the top floors of a skyscraper, where a name alone solved everything—the ultra-elite.
"........."
Kayla swallowed dryly.
Unlikely, but maybe this girl was really some corporate heiress who'd run away from home?
'Her looks make it plausible.'
If so, she worried about getting tangled in something messy.
But an even bigger windfall beckoned.
'Maybe she came down here for a thrill, pockets stuffed with allowance money.'
By the time her thoughts reached that point, Kayla straightened up and schooled her expression.
"Alright, so how much were you thinking for payment once the job's done?"
A chance to run a simple errand and pocket some fat credit dollars. With luck, she might even score one extra zero beyond her expectations. She was buzzing with anticipation when the response blindsided her.
"As payment for the job, I'll cure your chronic illness."
"........."
Kayla blanked out for a second.
'What the hell is this nonsense?'
At first, it sounded like an incomprehensible joke.
She only had one chronic condition: Cybernetic Overmodification Syndrome.
Implants with combat-level output addicted the user's mind and body alike. A body overloaded with metal gradually sickened from immune rejection, while the central nervous software eroded the nerves, driving the user mad.
Without constant injections of stronger suppressants and software tweaks, the user went insane or died.
Humanity's incurable curse for harnessing technology's power.
"You're going to cure that?"
It would've been less absurd if the girl had offered billions in credit dollars.
That had a slim chance. This didn't.
Once Overmodification Syndrome set in, it was incurable. Common knowledge.
It was like a law of physics. Earth orbits the sun. Dead people don't come back. No tech could restore the soul's void left by flesh replaced with inorganic matter.
Knowing that, she couldn't hide her incredulity.
"Did I misunderstand? You mean you'll cover my lifetime supply of immune suppressants?"
"No. I mean I'll heal your body so it never hurts again."
"Ha, yeah, right..."
Kayla let out a hollow laugh, staring at the girl who repeated it calmly.
If money or tech could fix it, it wouldn't be this ridiculous.
Countless corporations had failed despite endless research. Street mercs with cheap implants and elite corporate agents under top care alike dreaded that 'retirement.'
Even now, countless died in these alleys from rejection reactions.
Kayla's fate was no different. Symptoms had already begun.
"........."
She clenched her trembling hand.
Her prescribed meds kept ramping up, but the condition worsened steadily.
Nightmares were more frequent lately.
One day, a glitched cortical implant driving her mad, spraying bullets everywhere until gunned down by authorities.
Or collapsing in a pool of her own blood when rejection overwhelmed the suppressants.
How much time did she have left? Ten years? Twenty?
If lucky, she could pull off a 'big score' and retire first. Earn enough for lifetime meds, downgrade all implants, scrape by. But most alley mercs died bullet-riddled before that.
That's why they called it walking a knife's edge.
A life with no other path.
She'd steeled herself for it long ago.
Back when she was a teenage girl who'd stormed out, vowing not to whore herself in the slums for scraps.
She'd sworn to decide how she lived—and died—on her own terms.
A decade-plus of clawing her way through left her with a fixer's rep and a body wrecked by implant addiction.
She'd done all she could, no regrets.
But press any old scar—even one you'd ignored—and it still hurt.
Irritation surged.
"Hey... there are things you can say and things you can't. I don't care how sheltered you are, lying to toy with desperate people—"
"If it's hard to believe, should I pay upfront right now?"
"What?"
But the girl's confidence didn't waver. Kayla felt a spark of curiosity. What gave her such boldness? She didn't stop what came next.
"Seeing is believing, faster than words."
The girl closed her eyes like in prayer, pressing a fingertip to Kayla's forehead.
And—
"...!"
There was light.
=======================================
I stared down at my long-cold coffee cup, lost in thought for a moment.
Truth be told, it'd be a lie to say I wasn't worried if my plan would actually work.
I'd stepped up boldly, promising to cure her illness, but [Healing Radiance] was a skill I'd only confirmed in the game.
No matter how much my appearance had changed, I couldn't be sure I could really use it myself.
If not for that accident on the way here.
"........."
I glanced at my hand absentmindedly.
Pale, slender fingers. Flawless, smooth skin. Different from my old ones, but pretty enough for an ad model.
Yet just dozens of minutes ago, this hand had been a bloody mess.
Rummaging through a trash bin, I'd gashed it deep on shattered glass. The pain was bearable, but the wound gaped to the bone. More blood than expected poured out—I'd panicked hard. Horrific, even recalling it now.
But now it was perfect, not a scar in sight.
Thanks to some power I'd unwittingly unleashed in desperation.
⚡ SKILL ACTIVATED ⚡ Healing Radiance Removes abnormalities and restores the target.
The saintess's basic ability in the game.
Simple effect: 'Removes the target's abnormalities and restores them.'
A straightforward tooltip, but that one line let me work unreal miracles.
Healed a hand so mangled it might've needed dozens of stitches, without a trace.
That sparked the plan.
Offer this power to a game character who knew the situation, in trade.
First who came to mind: [Fixer Kayla].
In [Neofront Cybercity], one of the top trustworthy NPCs, fingers on one hand enough to count.
Seemed prickly, but she never betrayed mid-mission—a reliable merc. That's why I trusted her enough to come. Luckily, her office matched the game's intel exactly.
Footsteps approached from outside. She was back. The presence drew nearer, and the front door burst open.
I greeted her—it'd only been hours since we'd last met.
"Welcome back?"
"........."
She'd gone to a nearby cyberware clinic for a checkup. Kayla returned with a dazed look.
"How'd the exam go?"
"...The doc was floored. Asked what kind of magic I pulled."
She mumbled in a hollow tone.
"Hormone levels and white blood cell count—all back to normal. No suppressants needed now. And... the noise is gone. That damn ringing in my head since the neural implants... it's completely vanished."
Her trembling eyes turned to me.
"What the hell... did you do to my body?"