Chapter 11
Chapter 11
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: Random Encounter (6)
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Time passed.
Another morning dawned.
Rubbing my sleepy eyes, I groped for the smartphone by my bedside, only to remember this wasn't 21st-century South Korea and let out a yawn-mixed sigh.
"Haaah..."
A refreshingly crisp morning.
Or was it really morning?
'What time is it now...'
Oh, right.
The clock's inside the store.
Guess I have no choice but to get up.
Swoosh. The blue tarp draped over me slid down with gravity.
The polyurethane fiber tarp wasn't ideal as a blanket, but what could I do?
I'd make do with it.
Still far better than sleeping directly on the cold floor.
'Miss that ondol floor. Or even a mattress.'
As I recalled the room's scenery from when I first opened my eyes.
The 'homeless assault incident' from last night behind the grocery store popped into my head, bringing on a headache.
Sigh.
I straightened my stiff back and headed to the bathroom sink.
The sink mirror was spotless, not a single stain.
Thanks to having way too much time and cleaning the bathroom meticulously.
'In movies or games, they smash mirrors in rage.'
This mirror, which I'd spent over an hour scrubbing with some mystery cleaner,
didn't deserve to be smashed innocently.
I examined my reflected face.
A bit tired-looking, but that was just my mood.
Mentally exhausted aside, no dark circles under my eyes, and my skin was surprisingly fine.
Meaning no physical fatigue buildup.
Aside from my sharp (or very sharp) gaze, I could probably scrape a 7 out of 10.
'Damn, I'm handsome.'
After some self-praise.
I finished washing up neatly and exited the bathroom.
First, I crammed the microwave full of hotdogs nearing expiration,
and while the meal prepared, I checked the store's interior.
Nothing out of the ordinary while I slept; no major issues.
Nice and tidy again today.
And from the ceiling, one turret descended.
"Yeah, turret. Good morning."
It looked like it had something to say, but still groggy with sleep, it was hard to interpret.
Probably trying to say good morning like me.
Anyway.
I checked the street view through the opaque glass wall.
Dark clouds like noisy static.
Neon signs flashing day and night.
And beyond them, a grubby face...
"Ack, you startled me."
"May I come in?"
Thought it was a customer.
My eyes met a young homeless guy's plastered to the glass.
Without waiting for approval, Michael cleared his throat a few times and let himself in through the door.
"Good day, Hotdog Man. Nice lunch. Have you eaten?"
Ding! sound with the question.
The microwave timer I'd set was done.
Michael tightened his frayed suit tie, maintaining a formal demeanor.
"Oh, you haven't yet. Then I'll get to business quickly."
"...Why the sudden formal speech?"
Did yesterday's food upset my stomach?
We'd agreed on casual talk.
(No.)
To my question, Michael slicked back his hair with a salesman-like bright smile.
"Our positions have switched, so our attitudes should match."
"For someone saying that, your attitude yesterday was pretty raw..."
"I hadn't seen proper food in days, so chalk it up to weakness of body and mind. I'd appreciate it."
Does anyone use 'weakness of body and mind' here?
But his odd mental state was clear since yesterday when he bashed the gang members with a club.
"So, what's up."
If not buying, get out.
I did show goodwill to the homeless yesterday, but that doesn't mean store ops suffer.
Narrowing my eyes at Michael, he shrugged and stepped back.
"No need to be so guarded. My attitude yesterday wasn't fake. Hotdog-Man."
Might as well call me by name.
But Hotdog Man or Abel Anderson, neither stuck.
"And what I'm here to tell you relates to yesterday's incident."
"Asking about feeding time?"
"...Curious, but not urgent."
Michael pulled a round object from his pocket.
That’s...
"An eyeball?"
"Correct. Specifically, one from Logic Systems' Sentry series—a cybernetic ocular aid, simply put."
Michael's mechanical eye was dry like a glass marble.
But as a human eye replacement, it creeped me out.
Ugh, gross.
"Key feature of the Sentry series: primary data preservation in the cyberware."
Tinkering with it, click—something popped out.
SD card shaped.
"Meaning external info the user directly witnessed remains in the pupil."
"Saw it with me own two eyes."
"...Pardon?"
Michael tilted his head at my joke.
Thinking he misheard, he continued.
"Usually for post-mortem reports, but no data retention set. So not the full story, but enough to know why you were attacked, Hotdog Man."
"Conclusion only."
Cyberpunk folks wear CCTV eyes, got it.
But too much intro.
Michael cleared his throat, calming his excitement.
"Sorry. Been ages since I reported like this."
What a guy.
Office worker somewhere?
"Among the homeless we shared food with yesterday, one hacked cybernetic parts. Skilled. Everyone's got circumstances, so he stays here."
You too.
"Anyway, long story short: you're in danger, Hotdog Man. Targeted by the gang expanding in Area 49."
Hearing Michael,
I recalled the gang member's face from yesterday.
- Our boss said to leave a warning. Beehived corpse should suffice.
Probably related to the kid I fed.
Kid. Gang. Warning.
Random Encounter probability increased, too.
"So?"
Expected somewhat.
Beating a gang member brings what? More members! More attacks!
That's it.
To my nonchalant reaction, Michael looked flustered.
"Not something to brush off. Their boss is Bogers—rumors say—"
"...Bogers?"
By the way.
Not me who said that.
Michael and my gazes shifted outside.
"There was an attack yesterday...?"
The kid was there, looking up at us, arrival unknown.
Knew about the attack, so heard from the start.
Zero presence.
"This kid..."
"Never mind."
I cut Michael off.
Couldn't let him call her crazy kid in front of her.
"So, conclusion: Burgers or Bogers gang might come back."
"...Yes. And they're after this girl."
"Why?"
Let's hear the reason.
Michael shook his head.
"As I said, couldn't get the full details."
I pondered a reason.
....
Gasp, no way.
Bogers, you pedo bastard.
The kid charged at me like grabbing my collar.
Looking panicked.
"Attack? You okay? Hurt anywhere...?"
"Hey, kid whose blood hasn't dried yet, watch your casual talk."
"...??"
A Confucian dragon awakened in me.
Didn't she use proper speech last time?
Shocked, slipped into casual unconsciously.
The short kid looked up at me in disbelief, not reaching my chest.
"...Huh?"
...Come to think, with my size up, she's not that tiny.
But words already out.
Can't take back spilled words.
Kept stiff posture.
"Kiddo. Don't worry too much. It'll be fine anyway."
Not too worried.
Might lack realism, but that's how I felt.
Why? Thought about it.
Probably because of the machine god—Nova—watching us secretly with its lens out from the ceiling.
Danger comes?
Just flee inside the turret-guarded store.
A grocery with 20mm turret.
Nearly invincible zone.
And not just one turret.
To breach? Dozens of gang members with overwhelming firepower.
Unlikely over a boss's girl taste.
Common sense.
"Got it?"
"...Not kid, my name's Liberain."
Back to polite speech like first meet—Liberra. Pretty name.
Gloomy mood brief.
Liberra asked me, a bit deflated.
"...So, what's the boss's name?"
Sudden boss.
Still thinks I'm in a gang?
Told her no.
"That was just acting. My name's—"
"Hotdog-Man."
Quiet Michael spoke.
That damn Hotdog Man.
I frowned, he backed away slyly.
And then.
An ominous voice rang out.
A bright female voice only I could hear.
Had to rethink my judgment.
'No big gang coming? No heavy firepower?'
All nonsense.
...Vroooom!!
Heavy engine roar.
From the distant road.
A massive truck charging in.
"What the hell."