Chapter 51
Chapter 51
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 51
Chapter Title: Territory Dispute
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"Now, our final story of the day!"p> "What a coincidence—it's about another gang! In Area 49, your neighbors are gang members, so it's unavoidable!"
Click.
The voice from the communicator cut off.
And at the same moment...
In the grocery store's storage warehouse—
Lounging on the (scavenged) sofa, I realized that all three pieces of news from that Dobble-Dobble or Bubble-Bubble guy involved me.
"...Hmm."
Seemed like I'd been going out too much lately.
I made an impossible plan to hole up in the grocery store and play house husband for a while.
'Yakuza outfit, triad society, and some terrifying megacorp special forces.'
Didn't expect to get this popular.
If this were a rom-com manga world, it'd be pure bliss. Sadly, this was a fusion-punk world built on cyberpunk streets.
And they weren't even all of them!
I slowly reached toward the hotdog on the cat food box.
Shwooo...
A unique sensation dominated the space.
The omnipotence of controlling every air current at will.
Soon enough,
a small psychokinetic vortex I'd formed pulled the distant hotdog right to my hand.
For the record, not a single drop of sauce hit the floor.
First time using psychokinesis since the peanut picking, but I controlled it as freely as my own hand.
I shoved the hotdog in my mouth in one bite,
and recalled the final faction gunning for me.
'...And the city government.'
Why was the city administration rounding up espers?
No clue.
They should focus on managing criminals instead.
Anyway, even a laid-back guy like me was starting to feel the need for some leveling up.
* * *
Closing my eyes tight, countless root-like tendrils began emerging like shadows over the pitch-black canvas of my mindscape.
Each root shaped differently, it felt like gazing at ancient Roman frescoes by some master artist.
They pulsed red like veins.
'Pistol, bomb, fist, sword, guy, weird chipset... even something ninja-shaped.'
Looked just like the UI from various RPGs.
My gaze shifted to the lone 'gray heart-shaped' root hovering apart.
Focusing my mind hard on it, the heart root rushed toward me like I was on a moving walkway.
At its core, the trait labeled 【Psychokinesis】 sparkled like the North Star.
I tried picking a new trait for fun, but with zero points left, it stayed grayed out.
'Superhuman, Psychometry, Pyrokinesis...'
And so on.
Beyond the heart root, other categories brimmed with traits, snowballing my frustration.
'This is total trash game design.'
How many gang thugs had I taken down already?
Leveling's already grindy, why so many traits to pick?
'Or maybe...'
Like with my first kill achievement.
Maybe EXP only comes from actual kills.
'Pretty plausible.'
Thinking that made me sigh.
Game world or not, mindless killing for levels felt off—way off.
I'm no psychopath...
"Huh."
Then I spotted something new.
Near the pistachio-peanut-picking trait that saved my life, a percentage had appeared.
This had to be...
'Proficiency.'
Separate from levels.
No harm in testing.
Still sprawled on the sofa, I made hotdogs fly into my mouth on their own.
About 30 minutes later...
It definitely went up.
"Yes."
Just 1%, but it rose.
Plenty of room to grow without leveling.
Wonder if other systems exist too.
Musing on game mechanics, I joked,
"Save—."
"Hotdog Man, you in there?"
"Blech."
Michael's voice knocking at the back door.
Damn, bit my tongue again.
The airborne hotdog parade swiftly restacked into the box.
Almost reflexive.
"Yeah, I'm in."
"Then, if you'll excuse me."
Michael entered the storage warehouse through the back door, his face blank as a mask.
"What've you been doing alone in here?"
"...Just phone."
"Handphone? Odd term. Not cellphone."
Korean patch feels a bit off.
Handphone's a Koreanism anyway.
Whatever.
If talk dragged, I'd be the one in trouble, so I casually pointed at what Michael brought.
"What's that you hauled in now?"
"Oh, found it in the bushes outside the lot and picked it up."
"......"
What else could it be.
In Area 49's harsh reality, even a talented exec turns junk dealer...
Seems he's content, though.
As I eyed Michael with pity for the poor beast,
he eagerly hung a 'dartboard' on the wall, uncharacteristically excited.
"You'll have fun with it."
"You like this stuff?"
"Well, it's an old hobby of mine."
Michael enjoyed wholesome pastimes utterly at odds with cyberpunk society.
How'd a guy like that work corp secretarial?
His skills were legit, though.
"Bullseye's the best, right?"
Hearing my mutter, Michael spun around and stared straight at me.
"Bullseye is 50 points. See the 20-point section at the top? Hit the red there for triple—60 points."
"Oho."
"Scoring's the same across all games."
The veteran spotting fresh meat suppressed his glee and handed me three darts.
"Give it a throw."
Thrown basketballs at arcades a few times.
Darts? First go.
As I fiddled with the dart, Michael chuckled on with explanations.
"Darts is simple yet subtle. Smart chips calculate distance, cybernetic bodies boost accuracy, but ultimately, it boils down to your senses—."
Michael's words halted midway.
My thrown dart had nailed the red 20 dead center.
"...I was gonna say that's too far; come closer."
Distance to the board? Easily over 10 meters.
Then,
my next two casual tosses hit the same red 20.
"......Huh?"
Next round.
The one after.
Same results.
Michael quietly packed up the board.
"...Sorry. I was arrogant. Daring to sully Hotdog Man's eyes with my pathetic skills."
"No, it wasn't that bad..."
"I'll train harder and return."
After the loser left.
I felt a twinge of guilt for using psychokinesis on the darts.
Proficiency rose, at least.
This was Risk City's Area 49...
No place for the weak; a demon realm where frailty meant death.
* * *
Thankfully, no major incidents hit the grocery store for days.
The issue?
The trait proficiency that rose quickly at first started slowing down.
Despite secretly using it nonstop without others noticing.
24% and stubbornly stuck.
"Hotdog Man, what're you thinking so hard about?"
Today too, as he handed out expired food to the homeless.
Michael noticed my grim face and sidled up.
Too lame to say nothing.
"Where're Liberra and Nova?"
"Out walking again, looks like."
"Walking together every day..."
Wait, isn't walking daily normal?
Area 49's security sucked, but I doubted those two would get hurt.
Since Nova's solo stroll last time, Liberra tagged along too.
Fine by me if they got along.
Then, a ragged homeless guy stopped before Michael and me.
"Urgh..."
Michael stepped forward instinctively.
"Something wrong?"
Food-short folks could grab from the box themselves.
With occasional drugged-up randos acting out, Michael glared warily.
"New face, so let me explain the rules here—."
That instant.
A eerie fervor lit the homeless man's eyes.
Sigh.
Right on cue, the sun peeking through clouds every few hours glinted off the blade bursting from the homeless man's bosom.
I yanked Michael's shoulder back,
and caught the lunging jackknife between my fingers.
"Whoa, nice knife."
Didn't match his ragged clothes.
Had the Ha... whatever Yakuza finally sent an assassin?
But too amateur for a Yakuza hitman.
Looked every bit the real homeless bum.
Stopping the blade with two fingers, he gripped the handle with both hands, grunted, yanked hard enough to flop backward, and barely reclaimed it.
Whoops, slipped.
I wiped the greasy blade on my pants and spoke.
"So, who're you and where from? Swinging knives out the blue?"
His bloodshot eyes twitched, fixated not on me but some 'other' thing.
Far more entranced than your average street junkie.
And then.
The man unhesitatingly drew the jackknife across his own throat.
Like a fanatic from the news.
"For our god and truth!!"
Firm voice, spurting blood.
I wiped the splatter from my cheek with my hand and looked at Michael.
"What the hell's this?"
"...I'll look into it right away."
Now some weird cult popping up to screw around.
Fusion-punk my ass; should've just played Animal Crossing...
Made me miss the villagers today.