Chapter 59
Chapter 59
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 59
Chapter Title: Territorial Struggle (9)
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This world has a term called "corporate war."
Corporate War (Corp-war).
It was too massive to simply call it hostile M&A activity.
Cyberpunk corporations, run like they were missing a few screws, often operated their own private armies or security forces.
So, they didn't hesitate to buy up massive shares without the other company's consent,
or even launch "physical" terrorist attacks to tank the rival's value.
(No wonder it's called a war.)
Michael elaborated on that point.
"Actually, there were companies that tried to develop and sell paper straws. But after their chairman died in some 'accident,' the plastic straw cartel—naturally elected as the majority shareholder—absorbed all their processes."
"What kind of accid—"
"The news called it a robber attack. Even though those robbers were using corporate-grade cybernetic prosthetics not available on the open market."
Scary.
Is this the world of cyberpunk (mixed with biopunk, arcanepunk, fusionpunk)?
"Wars like paper straws versus plastic have dragged on for ages."
"Doesn't that make you a target too?"
Michael shook his head at my question.
"I'm fine. That's why I'm planning to run this on a small scale. Mass production would require adhesive processing facilities and semi-automated molding machines anyway, which I don't have."
He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out what could only be described as a "cursed object" that never should have seen the light of day.
Its name:
"Biodegradable resin straws made from biofarm corn starch 'artificial pulp.' Just wrap them diagonally like this, compress, and dry. Done."
"Huh..."
They alter the taste of drinks easily, can't be used for long, and degrade quickly if not stored right—
A business item full of flaws.
Paper straws.
You shouldn't exist.
"I'm producing these in small batches and positioning them as a premium brand. I've already sent prototypes to influencers with eco-friendly tags."
"You're unnecessarily quick on the draw."
"Thank you."
That wasn't a compliment.
"Most eco-issues are like that. Just stimulate the elect complex of people living worry-free."
I had a question for Michael, who was about to unleash poison on the cyberpunk world.
"But I heard paper straws are actually worse for the environment than plastic ones."
"As long as I can leverage the 'paper' image, results don't matter."
The paper image, huh...
Makes sense in a world where street trees are a rare sight.
....
"Wait, but that's not even real paper."
Artificial pulp, right?
"Plenty of people sign insurance policies without reading the fine print. And by city law, artificial pulp counts as 'paper.'"
...Michael, you're terrifying.
No blind spots.
"Fine, paper straws aside. What's this about selling bottled water?"
"This can explains it."
Michael pulled a slim can from another pocket that screamed energy drink.
"Product name: 'Floured Bomb.' Named to match my top investor's tastes."
"...Floured Bomb?"
Probably means liquidity bomb or something.
Everyone knows some mafia boss loves fire and explosions.
The can label featured eye-catching red and yellow blasts.
"A bomb, literally. The bottom says 'KILL THE PLASTIC AND CHROME'—critiquing pollution while stoking anti-android hate."
This is straight-up Liquid Death.
That infamous U.S. bottled water like Bong-i Kim Seon-dal.
Of course, water was pricier than you'd think here.
Cola cheaper than water? No surprise.
Koreans under Dangun's blessing have granite-filtered groundwater, so they undervalue it.
But in this polluted cyberpunk hell where the sun's hidden every morning, even chlorine-reeking tap water is prime quality.
A faint madness lit Michael's expressionless face.
"It's all about the message."
Michael casually quoted a clown villain from another city.
"Plus, Area 49's a special administrative zone, so sneaky marketing skirting city laws is no issue. Heh heh..."
Should I execute Michael here for world peace?
What kind of corporate exec let this guy flee to Area 49...
My options were limited.
1 - (Attack)
2 - Stop him.
3 - Ignore and cheer him on.
Obviously, 3.
"Go for it."
"Thank you."
No problems? Good luck.
Whatever, beats me now.
Michael bowed formally despite my limp response.
"I'll repay your faith."
No need for that much.
Just don't cause more trouble.
I sighed softly.
* * *
A few days later.
Killing time fiddling with my terminal, I nearly spat out my cola.
"Holy..."
I laughed in disbelief.
Browsing a social media platform I'd joined to observe locals' lives.
(Instagram vibes.)
A famous influencer's post featured Michael's paper straws and canned water.
A weird feeling washed over me.
This actually works?
Why does it work?
No clue.
As shocking as that influencer's chest.
Anyway.
Checking more posts when a shadow fell over my terminal.
"......"
"......"
I quietly powered it off.
Why so many stealthy people around me?
I hadn't done anything wrong, but I proceeded cautiously.
"...Walk went okay?"
"Yes."
Nova's usual deadpan face, but her voice felt icier today.
Chilling.
Like a 20mm round slamming into my chest...
Her unreadable eyes stared at the blank screen.
Then her feet.
Back to the screen. Rinse, repeat.
Felt like the turret would drop from the ceiling, blare [Dyu!], and end me.
Change the subject quick...
Wait.
"That on your shirt. Blood?"
A faint red stain at the hem.
Nova's shoulders twitched.
"Fancy androids bleed too, huh. What happened?"
"My body simulates blood flow perfectly, but this isn't mine—or the AI's."
"Let me see anyway."
What could cause blood splatter?
Not beating up gang members.
Nova hesitated, then lifted her hem slightly.
Smooth skin.
Taut abs in sharp relief.
Even a subtle navel.
'Why does an android have a belly button...'
I mentally applauded the custom order's designer.
'A man of culture.'
No wound visible, thankfully.
But I couldn't look away.
True to her blood-flow sim, her slim waist writhed vividly with each breath—
"...What are you two doing?"
—I snapped to.
Liberra, arrival unknown, eyed us lazily.
Doctors don't blush on the job.
(Not a real doc, but convincing myself.)
"Ahem. Blood on Nova's shirt. Nothing happened."
"...Ah."
My long excuse met Liberra's lukewarm reaction.
She narrowed her eyes sharply at Nova.
- I told you to be careful.
- I'll be more careful next time.
Nova nodded silently.
No mind-reading, so their glance's meaning escaped me.
'...Phew.'
Glad no weird misunderstanding with Liberra.
Contempt from my sister-figure? I'd be bedridden for days.
'Speaking of...'
How's that 'pig' back home who still owes me 50k?
Family curiosities popped up sometimes.
Ignoring since worrying wouldn't get me home.
Shook off the thoughts.
Liberra looked up worriedly at my odd vibe.
"...Something wrong?"
"Nah."
Her eye level's a tad below my sitting height.
Such random thoughts.
Then.
An ominous chime. Bright, cheerful female voice, like announcing "Landmark construction!"
Ding-a-ling-.
Grocery door slammed open.
Nova and Liberra's gazes snapped over.
"Unknown giant detected."
"...Weird. No one was there."
Could be a normal customer.
Why so jumpy?
"Just as the rumors said, at the counter."
Depth perception off on this guy.
One big dude...
Biggest I'd seen here.
White suit clashed with the hood vibe; face scarred beyond counting.
'Mafia sent?'
Definitely not normal.
And a bad vibe.
"What brings you here?"
Older than me, so polite.
He scratched his head roughly.
Dyed hair shed crudely onto the floor.
"Well, first off... Curious what kinda guy screwed over our crew."
'Crew' dropped.
Nova's turrets deployed instantly.
He eyed the massive turrets, whistling lightly.
"Jolt Industry military turrets. Hard to get even with money."
Not rattled.
Heavy steps in snake-leather shoes cracked the floor—
No way...!!
"Hold up."
"Hm?"
"...Let's talk outside."
This floor-crusher entering.
Reminded me of Bogers Gang's truck.
No more repairs.
He smirked at my words.
"Don't want turret help? Ha, manly. I like it."
Good, he agreed.
Shaved ten years off my life...
Out the front door, he ducked through the normal entrance behind me.
"You're the Hotdog Man, huh."
"And you..."
My bold stance—he tossed a business card from his pocket.
I snatched it mid-air.
『白牙, 黑虎』
Where's the Hangul patch?
Hanja not too tough.
"...Black Tiger?"
"Hakuga-gumi crew boss. Black Tiger."
"......"
I shut up.
A whole organization's head.
Should weigh something.
Shrank like facing a mafia don.
Didn't expect the boss in person.
'Anyway...'
His friendly vibe—not here for the store cat (ninja).
I clammed up; Black Tiger—why do these guys all have crap names?
Anyway.
Grinned wide, flashing white teeth.
"Not bad-looking. Good. Real good..."
At that moment.
That same chill crawled up my spine.
Not life-threatening...
"...Got your appetite up, eh."
"You son of a—."
Different danger.
And.
Rat-tat-tat!!!
Outside turrets erupted in preemptive fire...!