Chapter 4
Chapter 4
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: Back Alley Saintess (4)
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After going around in circles, the conclusion was, as expected, 'I need money.'
Gathering information that might help me get back home, fulfilling my daily needs for food, clothing, and shelter—everything costs money, no matter what.
Especially in this city, where money drains away just from breathing. It's a world where hyper-capitalism has become reality.
'In any case, I need a stable source of income.'
In that sense, let's think for a moment. In the cybercity worldview, what comes to mind first when it comes to making money?
Smuggling contraband, drug deals, bank robberies—events swarming with gunfights and violence naturally spring to mind.
It's a game, after all. Without hot-blooded, stimulating action, what's the point?
I started the game in the first place because I was hooked on that hard-boiled charm. The jobs I'd seen in the original story were mostly fixers or mercenaries.
'Alright, I've decided.'
That's why the first job I chose here was—
"Welcome! Takeout?"
A part-time gig as a waitress at a pizza joint.
What did you expect? Now that this world had turned from a game into reality, it was only right to avoid dangerous antics.
I'd never even hit anyone in my entire life.
How could I suddenly hang out with rough mercenaries and properly pull off stuff that might involve killing people if things went south?
If someone who lived peacefully their whole life could just up and do that... they'd probably have to be crazy from birth.
Yeah, this wasn't a game where you could retry even if you got unlucky and took a bullet to the head.
Until I could return to my original world, it was best to play it safe and keep my body intact.
'Safety first, preserve my health. Nothing beats staying in one piece.'
I was nodding to myself with those thoughts when a voice called out from the kitchen.
"Takeout order up! Two boxes of synthetic pepperoni~!"
"Yes, boss!"
A brown-haired woman approached, carrying stacked pizza boxes. Jenny was the owner of this eatery.
Fixer Kayla had introduced me, and luckily, she'd taken a liking to me, giving me this chance to work.
Her personality was incredibly friendly too—she'd started calling me by a nickname after just a few days.
"I have no idea how much sales have gone up since Eve started. I had a feeling from the first time I saw you. You're a total lucky charm."
"Ahaha..."
Evania. Eve. The name still felt unfamiliar. But I guess I'd have to get used to it eventually. To live here, after all.
Anyway, with the job secured, my worries about living expenses were sorted for the time being.
Around this point, someone might ask:
Why bother with a low-wage part-time job all day when I could just use my 'abilities' like I did with Kayla and make money way easier?
I'd pondered that myself.
But the [Saintess's abilities] that worked in reality were a power whose true nature even I didn't fully understand. I couldn't explain the principles behind it, nor guarantee its limits.
Using it for pay from others came with too many uncertainties.
Kayla's case was a very special exception. Back then, I was desperate, clinging to anything at the cliff's edge. It worked out fine, but a power whose effects I couldn't clearly guarantee wasn't something to casually use for transactions.
So that idea was on hold for now.
A regular part-time job seemed like the best option at the moment.
'Ideally, one where I can stay out of sight.'
To reiterate, [Omega Detroit] was a dangerous city.
This lower district, especially, far from corporate eyes, was a hotbed for mercenaries and cartels running wild.
With my looks changed like this already, using some mysterious superpower would draw unnecessary attention no matter how I sliced it. It was a tightrope walk—one wrong step, and I'd become a target for crime. Even in the original game, missions often involved kidnapping celebrities or influencers.
Far better to just live a normal life working a regular job.
'That said, no need to be overly paranoid.'
No matter how dangerous, this was still a place where people lived.
Even with the worst public safety, ordinary civilians living quietly didn't get hit as often as you'd think.
The high murder rate mostly stemmed from turf wars between crime syndicates. The cops put in nominal effort to maintain order, and in truly serious unrest, the city government and corporations teamed up to restore it.
So as long as I didn't cross any lines, there wasn't much to worry about.
'Like getting tangled with gangs or doing anything reckless...'
I figured there wouldn't be any dangerous incidents ahead.
That's what I genuinely thought back then.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ An auditorium packed with dozens of people, thick with a tense, murderous atmosphere.
The faces of those seated said it all.
Bodies brutally modified with combat cybernetics.
Tattoos for intimidation or show, air hazy from incessantly puffing inhalers.
As they sized each other up, their cybernetic eyes gleamed in various hues, brimming with an indefinable tension.
Every face gathered here was a renowned street merc—or bore the marks of infamous violent syndicates.
The scene evoked a warehouse stuffed with flammables.
One stray spark, and it all might blow—a moment laced with that kind of strain.
Clunk—
The late creak of the door drew every eye at once.
Beyond those gazes emerged an incongruous silhouette: a petite girl's.
One step forward revealed shimmering silver hair and innocent sky-blue eyes.
A fragile appearance utterly at odds with the venue's vibe.
She looked, at a glance, like a lost child who'd wandered into the wrong place.
Hence the brief silence blanketing the space.
One man stood and approached her slowly.
Step—step—.
"........."
"........."
Then he knelt before her, bowing his head.
"We behold the Radiance."
His voice echoed, and everyone knelt in unison.
Some murmured greetings softly; others bowed motionless without a twitch—but one thing united them.
All treated the girl with utmost reverence.
With every small step she took through the crowd,
These lawless street wolves, fearless in all things, straightened their postures, careful not even her hem might brush them, and bowed politely.
Thus she crossed the packed hall to ascend the podium.
In the already hushed space, even breaths went silent.
Instead, the assembled gazes sparkled with indefinable anticipation and fervor.
After a moment's quiet, the girl finally spoke.
"Everyone, let us pray together. Merciful Radiance, guide us even in the darkness, and bestow mercy upon the lost children."
Following her voice, all closed their eyes and recited the prayer without a shred of doubt.
As could be seen, everyone here was a believer in one faith.
[Merciful Radiance].
A name no one had heard of until recently, now the deity they all worshipped.
It had to be that way. They'd experienced the miracle firsthand.
A supernatural grace that wrought the impossible—purifying corrupted souls and bodies where science failed.
Yet more than the marvel, what moved their hearts was the warmth extended without regard to status.
No one had cared about the back-alley denizens before. Pushed to the fringes like trash, scrambling among themselves in the cracks of life. They'd sold their souls to machines for a shot at changing that fate, only to hurtle toward ruin instead—pitiful destinies, nothing more.
But what saved those dying souls was the divine mercy that approached in the form of a girl.
In this city where nothing came free, grace given solely because God loved all.
That unconditional hand extended at life's end was enough to upend countless worldviews.
From then on, the [Radiance Church] took root in the lower streets.
Gathered were those seeking salvation, a place to lean on—humanity's universal crave.
Beneficiaries trickled in for prayer meetings, swelling until the group gained a proper name: a nascent cult.
Its leader, dubbed the [Back Alley Saintess]...
Was me. And that was the problem.
'How the hell did things end up like this...!'
Where had it all gone wrong?
Amid this surreal sight of dozens of mercenaries and outlaws bowing to me, I felt like I was losing my mind.
The congregants' faces were intimidating no matter how many times I looked. Of course—real crime syndicate members were among them. The brutal looks that could make you faint if you crossed them on a night street were now humbly praying to me. No matter how I looked, I couldn't get used to it.
Even now, cold sweat trickled down my nape.
Truth be told, I had zero desire or thought to play [Saintess].
It was just a few weeks ago that I'd started a part-time job to slowly adapt to the city and earn living expenses.
To end up play-acting as the head of some unheard-of cult overnight?
If things could go wrong, they'd really gone off the rails this time. Could it even spiral this badly?
I had no clue where the snag had started.
As I inwardly screamed my frustration, my eyes met someone in the front row of the chapel.
She was a sophisticated beauty with striking golden eyes.
Her black hair neatly tied in a low bun and calm suit made her look like a career woman—or perhaps a cool-headed elite detective.
Her face, with its faint expressions, had never cracked a smile since we first met.
Staring into those deep, unreadable eyes like an ocean abyss, a memory suddenly surfaced.
The trigger for all this had started with my encounter with her.