Orange walked into the bathroom and found Li Pan brushing his teeth. Leaning on the doorframe, she asked,
"If you're going to blow eighty million all at once, give your secretary a heads-up first. When the tax office starts asking, we won't have time to align our statements."
"Ha— ptoo, ptoo! My bad. Say it was upfront prep for marine trash recovery and salvage."
Staring into the mirror, Li Pan went on,
"It's not safe lately. Put the seabed treasure hunt on hold. You and Ayako hold the factory. The defense turrets make it safer.
"Just get through the next few days. If you two want to spin up a missing-persons duo and debut cyberpunk-style, that's fine too. Either way, be mentally ready to evacuate Earth at any time."
Orange froze. "Evacuate… Earth?"
Li Pan sent her the hangar bay coordinates.
"Here—your ticket. Also, start binging recon-cruiser piloting tutorials. I already have a navigator, but Takamagahara ships aren't smart or automated enough—minimum crew looks like ten to twenty.
"While you're at it, recruit a few cyber mercs with space-ops experience. Salary: ten thousand a month for regulars, twenty for core staff. Your call."
He stepped out and saw Ayako still moving shelving. He called out,
"Hey, Ayako! I'm going to return the car. Anything left at your apartment you want to grab? Fragrant under— or bloodstained kitchen knives?"
Ayako: "F— squid!"
So… no.
They hustled until dawn. Li Pan grabbed a rideshare to the office, scrolling car sites for a low-orbit shuttle suitable for emergency evac.
Yeah, he was over it. 0791 was basically gods brawling—combat power spikes all over. Mortals on one side, supers on the other. Apostles throwing hands at the drop of a hat. Now it was the era of cheat builds—one-shot cadres, tear princes in half.
Still fun? Nope. Time to bounce.
The moment he entered the office, Li Pan felt something. A strange off-world energy saturated the workspace, like wading into a bog—his movements slowed.
Briny, fishy stench seeped into his nose—the rot of a fish tank after years without a cleaning.
He frowned and reached his doorway. A man in business attire sat in his General Manager's chair, shoes up on the desk.
Li Pan knocked twice.
"Pleaaase—come—iiiin—"
The man drew out the words, grinning at Li Pan.
Okay, not a grin—piranha fangs bared so wide they peeled his lips back. The human body fit him like the wrong-sized suit, stretched taut over his head so the face looked warped, as if someone were yanking the scalp.
"007?" Li Pan offered a hand. "I'm 0791-001. You move fast. Where are the other three? Not here yet?"
Fang-Man didn't stand, let alone shake. He wagged a finger.
"Temp—o—ra—ry—work—er, Num—ber—One—."
Heh. We're doing that routine, huh.
Li Pan withdrew his hand, thumbs hooked in his pockets.
"Speak up, I can't hear you. Didn't eat breakfast? LOUDER, jackass!"
A fish-reek gust hit—Fang-Man blink-stepped to Li Pan, towering half a head taller, face in his.
"TEMP. OR. ARY. WORK—"
Thump!
Li Pan didn't bother with pleasantries. He drove a fist straight for the groin. The thing had guarded, forearms catching the punch. They strained—strength about even.
Li Pan was quicker; when one punch didn't land, two more speared into the ribs—clang, clang—like steel plate. No reaction.
"Kekeke—"
Fang-Man blew saline breath and lunged, trying to bear-hug him.
No way Li Pan let him pin the limbs and lean on monster strength. He snapped both elbows inward to wedge the chest, shoved the thing back, and retreated two steps, opening distance.
Seeing the retreat, Fang-Man crouch-sprung like a frog, pouncing.
Chest strikes hadn't even made him sway—Apostle-level physique, with nonhuman structure. Out of respect, Li Pan went all out—qi flared, body-sheath up, stance locked.
"True—Dragon—Breaker!"
A black-tiger heart-punch roared for the chest—
Riiiiip— The tailored suit ran off by itself.
The thing's expression tightened. Muscles bulged—size up another notch—skin-suit splitting, green-blue hide showing beneath. He tanked the blow.
BOOM! Li Pan's full-power punch buried into the thing's abs—fist sunk to the wrist—smoke wisped from the wound.
"Uuurgh—!" The brute convulsed, eyes bulging, feet carving trenches in the floor—yet he ate the hit.
"Not bad," Li Pan said. "A cut above small fry, then."
"ROAR!"
Not just a cut above. Even after face-tanking True Dragon Breaker, it still had fight.
While Li Pan's arm was stuck deep, Fang-Man snapped his elbows—breaking Li Pan's left arm at the joint—and spat a high-pressure jet straight at his face.
Good thing for Nine-Yin body training: in an instant, Li Pan's waist snaked, torso twisting into an S to slip the stream. The acid blast ate a furrow through the office wall behind him.
The other guy was playing for keeps. Li Pan's temper flared. Left arm still trapped, he slid under with a sweep—crunch—snapped the ankle into a zigzag.
He weaseled through on serpent hips, kicked out the back of the knee, slammed the brute face-first—cratered the floor. He rolled atop, cinched a rear choke.
"Haaah—!"
Off-balance, pinned, and mounted—still no surrender. It stood up with him on its back, body swelling bigger, harder, darker—like a balloon popping new skin. Phase Two, huh?
You've got to be kidding me. The ceiling groaned under the growth.
Li Pan's eyes went cold. Enough. Monkey-blade qi gathered on his hand; he slashed the throat in a single knife-hand, ripping the head off.
Sour yellow-green blood geysered across the room.
The desk phone trilled.
"Of course. Now you're alive."
Li Pan reset the broken elbow, raided a med kit, slammed anti-inflam shots, nutrients, and nanobot tendon repair. Then he picked up.
"Yo."
"0791-001, this is 0213 General Manager 001. My man appears to have died in your office. Do you know what happened?"
"Do I— Oh! Your man? Hah! I thought it was a monster going berserk. I accidentally killed him. Whoops—sor-ry!"
He stomped—the head popped under his shoe.
"…By accident? He wasn't wearing a suit?"
"Are you seriously— Did he say he was Company? He was sitting in my chair, how about that? You think any rando gets to sit there?"
"…Understood. I apologize for the behavior of Temporary Worker 111."
Li Pan paused. "What did you say? Temporary Worker 111? Not 007?"
0213-001 said,
"007 is likely still in customs. Temp 111 is a combat-frame operator—007's usual teammate and partner. They're close. I just learned he smuggled himself into 0791 to assist and used our Tech Department's android replication know-how to craft an illegal combat prosthetic body.
"I failed to notify you in time—that's on me. Sorry for the misunderstanding."
"Oh…"
Li Pan scraped brain matter off his shoe into the carpet.
"Well, since you say it's a misunderstanding and you apologized, I won't press it. Just… don't do it again."
0213-001 continued,
"I'll handle it. For failing pre-briefing, misusing company assets, leaking tech, and desertion, I'll mark Temp 111 as employee out of control and delete his file.
"We don't yet know which illegal clone lab manufactured that body. To avoid tech leakage, please file an autopsy report—I've sent the template.
"I'll personally compensate you with one Silver Key. Will that settle it?"
Li Pan: "I'm a reasonable man. Works for me."
"Thank you for your understanding."
Call ended. Li Pan eyed the corpse.
Accident… or deliberate?
Sure, maybe he'd misread, but the other guy threw down first, didn't he? And that 0213-007… fast hands. Still at customs, yet the under-the-table pipeline—muscle, frames, clone labs—was already humming. Dead set on 0791, then.
The others would be the same—lining up to give him a welcome beating.
And that 0213 GM—how cleanly he cut ties. One wave and the temp was erased—dead men tell no tales. Totally in the dark? Sure.
Ugh. Company dogs and their palace intrigues—migraine fuel.
Fine. You all want to conquer Earth, play Realm Lord? Beat each other to pulp.
He snapped photos, filed the report, squared one more Silver Key debt, and watched Temp 111 crumble to ash before him.
Once janitorial hosed the floor, Li Pan flopped into the chair and got online.
Given the spiraling chaos and the Company's ever-worsening antics, time to plan his escape route for real.
He had no intention of ending up like 111—sold out and paying the bill.
Shuttles? Renting was like rideshare to work—rich folks weren't queueing for orbital elevators, right? But one-way was 3,000. Too pricey. Worse, rental craft were chained to traffic and safety systems—in a crisis you can't take manual control, reroute, or violate airspace. Useless for end-of-the-world no-fly lockdowns.
Better to buy and mod. For evac with passengers, forget a single-seat pod—something a bit nicer, six or seven seats minimum. Ballpark three million. It could hang under the recon cruiser as a drop shuttle, so no extra bay fees. Also handy for commuting, hauling, dates.
The recon cruiser had docked, but it was a bare hull—electronics, weapons, fuel, munitions, star charts, registration… everything needed doing, or they'd never make it out.
And space wasn't free—no money for a space-city, at least rent a station pod. What, sleep in a coffin sling like OP-factory rock miners, wake-work-surf-net?
Money… money… when will you come home to daddy…
"Boss," A-Qi knocked. "Emiliya, envoy of the Council, is here."
"Sigh. Speak of the devil… send her in."
K hadn't told him much—probably didn't want him deeper in. But during that call with Elder Yulia, he'd traded a little intel.
Grand Duchess Camilla had been assassinated by an organized strike.
For obvious reasons—Night Tower wasn't safe, many of her guards dead—she fled with heavy wounds.
As faction leader and Council executive, her security was top-tier; only a handful in the Emilius family knew her trail.
And still someone hit them—killed the Duchess and her team to the last. The NCPA flagged an anomaly first: a Night Corp sightseeing high-speed maglev derailed. They traced it: Night people.
Then: the Duchess's team. The Council blew up. From the scene—pure carnage—the Duchess's heart had been ripped out. Likely the old nemesis—the werewolves.
The Knight-Commander K—who'd been shouting "werewolves, werewolves" to deaf ears—was immediately empowered by the Elders to lead the hunt.
Was she happy? Who knew.
Li Pan's own position was awkward—two Princes dead under dubious circumstances, and his name somewhere in the mix. Night Corp wouldn't let that slide.
Respect? Forget that—corner a rabbit and it bites. When monsters target Night Corp, they'll fight to the death.
Emiliya stormed in. Li Pan sprawled in his chair and opened with, "Not my problem. Sure, I killed her guards and cut her in half, but I didn't kill her. Maybe a werewolf did."
He was about to hand over the werewolf maid golem to redirect blame, but Emiliya wasn't here for that.
She shut the door, changed expression, and kneeled at his side, fawning:
"Manager, the Council is in chaos. Do you remember our deal?"
"Uh… huh?"
Li Pan sat up. "The Blood Holy Grail?"
"Exactly—the Blood Holy Grail."
Breathing hard, Emiliya peeled back a flesh-colored silicone patch from her chest—pulled a secure chip and offered it.
"The Grail is in Cornelius Castle. Until a new Prince is chosen, it should be under my guard as Knight-Captain. But with the Duchess's death, I've been stripped of command and shunted aside.
"The Elders are too busy power-grabbing to rotate the vault codes. The full arming sequence is on this chip. The Blood Holy Grail—yours for the taking."
Huh. Here to deliver a relic for real. Li Pan's eyes lit. He reached out.
"Wonderful. Wonderful!"
She drew her hand back. "You remember our terms, yes?"
He nodded. "You get to use the Grail to lift the Blood Woe. No problem."
A flash in her eyes. "Correct—but the price has changed. We've investigated—your Monster Company and Takamagahara have clashed over the Grail before—'Bidding Wars'—with special war indemnities, right?
"Didn't realize how powerful your Company really was. If you go serious, Night and Takamagahara together can't match you. We misjudged.
"So, if taking the Grail blows up, the only safe play is to join you. Therefore…
"I want to jump ship—and take half of the Grail's bidding price."
"Well, that's… interesting."
Li Pan looked her up and down.
Her own Prince not cold yet and she's already selling the Grail. Eating from both sides and asking for more. Sprinting into the Company's firepit—suicidal.
But business is business. Everything's for sale; price is negotiable.
"Do you even know the original price of that Grail?"
She hesitated.
"I don't know the exact numbers, but your side won the bid twice—each time causing Neo-Tokyo-scale ground catastrophes. Massive property damage and public reconstruction.
"The Pacific Development Zone alone put in over 800 billion. So, for the whole Neo-Tokyo/Night City footprint, just compensating for those bidding-war damages would be trillions."
Li Pan clapped.
"And you dare ask for half? A trillion—can you even swallow that? Hey, stop sticking your tongue out. You can fool me, but the tax office?"
She smirked, sensing he'd bargain down. "Manager, I've been Knight-Captain a long time. To nail down Night City for my house, I've done more dirty work than you can imagine. My backer fell. The old men want to kick me while I'm down. I'm prepared.
"Relax. I have a century-old professional laundering team. Completely trustworthy. One trillion—no problem."
"Oh, you've got a team?"
Li Pan eyed her red lips, then the freshly cleaned carpet.
"Then how about two trillion? Can you swallow that? Just tell me the max you can wash. I'll quote higher."
Emiliya: "???"
Your bargaining… goes up?
She froze, afraid he'd flip the table and black-bag her.
His next line calmed her.
"I take half the kickback."
.
.
.
⚠️ 30 CHAPTERS AHEAD — I'm Not a Cyberpsycho ⚠️
The system says: Kill.Mercs obey. Corporates obey. Monsters obey.One man didn't.
🧠💀 "I'm not a cyberpsycho. I just think... differently."
💥 High-voltage cyberpunk. Urban warfare. AI paranoia.Read 30 chapters ahead, only on Patreon.
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