And so, Li Pan and Emiliya locked themselves in the office, trading barbs, exchanging interests, and cutting passionate deals until they finally reached an agreement.
They would cooperate to seize the Holy Grail. Emiliya would provide inside information and laundering, while Li Pan would handle the heist and fencing.
The plan was simple: Panlong Construction would steal the Holy Grail and hand it to Emiliya, who would then "represent" the Ye Group and complete the bidding transaction with Monster Company's manager, Li Pan—before defecting directly to his side.
In other words, left hand to right hand, right hand back to left. You make a trillion, I make a trillion, risk and profit evenly shared, and only the Ye Group is left bleeding. A world of harmony is thus achieved.
What, you're unhappy? Then come! Come and start a corporate war!
Of course, there were many details left to negotiate—such as the company's stance on the proposal, the method of stealing the Grail, laundering procedures, fallback plans if exposed—but compared to a reward worth one trillion, any setback, any problem, was trivial.
Sure, Li Pan could have acted directly as the company's representative, bidding against the Ye Group. Maybe they'd even sell it cheap in desperation. But if they refused until death, he'd get nothing. And even if it succeeded, at most he'd earn a single silver key.
Without that trillion in kickbacks, where was the motivation to fight a bidding war?
Besides, the company didn't care how he got it done—scams, tricks, outright theft—as long as the mission was wrapped up, they'd pay in full and still hand out silver keys.
A trillion! Damn. If he pulled this off, he'd shoot straight into the stratosphere.
But what exactly was a trillion? To Li Pan, who only a year ago wasn't sure if he even had a hundred bucks, it was still beyond comprehension.
As Emiliya had said, the Pacific District's development funds alone exceeded eight hundred billion, enough to build an entire city.
More concretely: in terms of interstellar warships, just the hull of a dreadnought might cost about a trillion—if you could even buy one.
Out of boredom, Li Pan pinged Ms. Lin and pulled an old TSC customer quote list. One glance was enough.
Right, dreadnoughts came in countless classes and roles, and no one ever just bought a bare hull—you had to fully outfit it. And not every shipyard could even produce them. Only frontline military-industrial giants could compete in that market.
It was the same principle as cyberware: Level 4–5 implants hit peak cost-performance, but from Level 6 onward, rare materials and proprietary patents drove prices through the roof.
The higher the tech rating, the more expensive and restricted the equipment. A dreadnought—capable of executing a "Correction Protocol" to annihilate entire planets—was undeniably Tier 8 tech.
So in reality, even a trillion might only buy you a junior dreadnought.
But if you lowered expectations—trading firepower, defenses, and tech content for affordability—you could instead opt for mass-produced, Tier 5 battleships. That opened up vast markets: military suppliers, second-hand fleets, black-market dealers, even decommissioned starships.
A fully outfitted Tier 5 battleship ran maybe a hundred billion. With rebates, promotions, and kickbacks, three to five hundred billion could buy a whole squadron—complete with escorts, firepower, and logistics.
The remaining funds could go toward SMS mechs, spice, fuel, ammo, professional veterans—navigators, pilots, engineers, marines—plus a leased space station or asteroid fortress. Pay the taxes, and voilà: a PMC private military contractor in embryo.
From trade and mercenary contracts to escort services and outright piracy—you'd be set, fighting wars that paid for themselves.
Of course, this was just a metaphor. In reality, money alone wouldn't buy you a private army. You needed networks, recognition, and countless hidden keys to join that predator's game.
Still, technology advanced so fast that even a whole Tier 5 squadron might lose to a single Tier 8 dreadnought. Against the Company's scan-lock-jump doctrine, they'd be wiped before leaving port.
But the point stood: a complete battleship squadron was roughly the kind of combat power one trillion could buy.
No wonder those two past Grail Wars had "coincidentally" left Takamagahara so flush. Maybe they'd even funded a Titan…
And if you didn't reinvest the trillion in combat power? You could always waste it.
Reincarnation in another world? A hundred billion for the ultimate isekai package! Full customization, plot scripts, harem guaranteed.
Life reset! Supreme Protagonist! Alternate World Overlord!
Ten trillion yen worth of cosplayers as NPCs, actors on payroll, 100,000 people roleplaying at your whim for a hundred years! Want deer? They're deer. Want horses? They're horses. Demand light? There is light! Eyebrow twitch—harem collapse! Kneel before your radiance!
Still not enough? Then add more! More money, more people, more scripts! Until your fantasy world satisfies you.
So now you know why Skyfolk and Starborn spend all day lying around motionless. Their self-scripted isekai worlds were far better than this cockroach-infested garbage heap called Night City.
After all, their ancestors had long since finished capital accumulation. They had no will to rebuild, nor courage to resist the true monsters ruling the multiverse. Why not just lie flat, burn endless wealth, and enjoy immortal pleasure?
Of course, money always runs out. When it does, the Skyfolk will fall like Takamagahara's warriors now—ending up in the industrial districts, sharing garbage heaps with cockroaches.
Because that's capitalism's final law:
Capital always concentrates in fewer hands.
They can lose a hundred times, but you can't afford to lose once.
The cruel jungle law of survival does not bend to willpower.
There can be only one winner.
Who wins everything.
Absolutely everything.
So work hard, boy! Even if you reach a "small goal," don't slack—set another, and another, and another! Ten thousand small goals to earn!
Struggle!
Struggle!
Strug—
"Boss," Aqi entered with coffee. "Are you high? Still want coffee?"
Li Pan scrambled off his desk. "Drink, drink, of course—fifteen bucks a cup!"
And so, with real business at hand, he ignored the collector nonsense.
A man of his word couldn't screw over his sworn brother. So catching some "collector" wasn't his problem. If the 007s wanted the GM seat, let them fight. He only wanted his trillion, then he'd isekai himself out.
So Li Pan handed all company affairs to his subordinates, hitched a ride with Ashiya Shigui on assignment, and ditched him halfway to go find K.
Even if Emiliya swore the Grail was "in the bag," sales talk was never trustworthy. He had to scope out the Cornelius Castle himself.
And time was short. Though Yulia might feed him intel from the Elders' Council, vampires were greedy, not fools. They wouldn't leave the regency empty for long.
An acting regent would be named soon. If that happened, Emiliya's arrangements were wasted, her trillion vanished into smoke.
Yet to his surprise, sneaking into Cornelius Castle was easy. K simply escorted him in again.
"First off, I didn't kill your prince."
"I know. Stand down," K barked at suspicious knights, then glared at Li Pan.
"Why are you here again? Isn't your mess big enough?"
Li Pan cut straight to the point, sliding a chip across.
"You hired me to hunt werewolves. I borrowed the security system, tracked the locator dolls. They hide in the undercity, but I've marked their main entrances. Send scouts, and you'll find them."
K's face softened. She nodded to hackers and scouts, then motioned Li Pan into a side chamber.
"Don't get involved. The killer wasn't a werewolf—it was something else."
"What do you mean?"
K shook her head. "Yes, wolves were there, took heads and hearts as trophies. But they came late. Everyone was already dead when they arrived.
All the blood was drained. Not a werewolf's work. More like… an Elder vampire.
If true, it was a true Demon Faction fiend—thousands of years old… Thirteenth Generation."
Li Pan frowned at her grim tone. With the knights outside eyeing him suspiciously, he realized she was under heavy suspicion, and if the Grail theft came out, she'd be ruined.
He hesitated, then pulled out the blood-red coin Duan Kecheng had given him.
K's eyes lit up. "What is this? Smells… amazing!"
Li Pan winced. Right—if not visible, it was certainly smellable.
"Didn't I tell you? I looted it from House Fabius during the chaos. Looks like one of your clan's trinkets."
"Fabius?" She frowned, turning it over. "But I've never heard of such a blood relic…"
"Then keep it," Li Pan said.
She froze. "Keep it?"
He chuckled. "You said yourself you've never seen it. Can't be worth much. But it looks like a charm. You're chasing killers—wolves, demons—none easy foes. Carry it for luck."
K held the coin, then nodded. "Thanks."
Li Pan exhaled. At least he'd prepaid her survival. And seeing how casually Duan Kecheng had minted it, maybe he could score another dozen later.
"Right—about that renegade body you promised me."
That was the real reason he came. As Night Clan's public enemy number one, every knight stared daggers at him. A disguise wouldn't cut it. If he stole the Grail in his own body and got caught, it'd mean open war.
K sighed, pulling a registry book from the shelf.
"Actually, there are plenty of traitors for sale. But your reputation stinks. They'd never sell directly. I'll buy under my name—pick a clan yourself. Delivery tonight. Then hit a body shop for cosmetic tweaks."
"Fine. Doesn't matter how it looks… but no women."
She rolled her eyes.
He quickly added, "Nothing against them, but my cultivation techniques are all male-lineage—meridians, manuals. Only female one I have is from some racy comic's Beast Saintess set. What would I do with that, huh?"
K sighed. "Got it. Any other requirements?"
Li Pan thought. Since the body would be burned after one job, no need for top-tier.
"Doesn't need to be strong. But it must be fast. Absolute speed—no one catches me. Got one?"
K blinked. "Specific enough. Speed is useful to archers, but families with such bloodlines are rare. You're sure that's the priority?"
"Only thing I want. The faster the better."
If Emiliya's codes failed, worst case, he'd smash the vault and run.
K nodded. "Alright. I'll arrange it."
Agreement reached, Li Pan left the castle.
Opportunity was ripe. With qi sensing and divination crystal, he'd mapped the defenses. The place looked full of knights, but Cornelius and Fabius elites were gutted.
K had pulled her mobile forces for a final showdown with wolves, leaving the castle hollow. Once she marched out, the Grail would be his.
All that remained was a hacker.
"Eighteen, you're up."
"No can do, boss."
"What? You want a raise again?"
"No, boss. The Company reconciled with the Ye Group. I can't touch them anymore. My permissions are locked."
"What! No hacker, no heist!"
"Hire one online. With my doll-protocol patch, I can rewrite permissions and give you stealth. All you need is a hacker to plug in and run it. But without Company-grade support, it's suicide. If Ye Group traces him, they'll kill him. Tie up loose ends after."
"Who would take such a job? Everyone knows stealing from a Company is suicide."
"Plenty. Newbies, desperate gamblers, arrogant maniacs. I'll pull a few from the deep net—you pick. I'll monitor them secretly. No leaks."
Li Pan sighed. True—cyber support was his greatest asset, but also his greatest risk. Eighteen was both his lifeline and Company's leash.
An independent hacker team wouldn't solve it either. They needed funding and gear, and could always be bought off.
In the end, the only one you could trust was yourself.
Scratching his head, Li Pan opened the files Eighteen forwarded.
One student, freelancing from a dorm. One programmer taking side jobs. One retired police tech turned PI.
Eighteen explained: "Punks won't touch it. Too many questions, blacklist if you burn partners. These three are clean.
Programmer wants 400,000 upfront. The PI asks 120,000, half deposit. The student charges… 2,500."
"…2,500??"
"Yeah, summer job. Talented but poor equipment. Needs a net café with a dedicated rig—some risk.
Programmer's competent, but shady—sometimes ups prices mid-job, sometimes leaves backdoors, sometimes bolts.
The PI's older, equipment dated, weakest technically, but reliable. Divorced, pays alimony, terminal lung cancer—easy to tie off after.
So, boss, who do you pick?"
.
.
.
⚠️ 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."
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