Li Pan wanted nothing more than to storm into the Tower of Night and wring Yulia's neck.
But he couldn't.
Forty billion—no, sixty billion—was small change.
Four hundred eighteen point five billion—also small change.
The 6,500 billion—that was the real problem.
TheM's golden rule was simple: no matter how much chaos you caused, you cleaned up your own mess. Don't drag the company down with you.
If this dirty-asset scandal tied Li Pan to a Security Bureau case, his accounts frozen by the Tax Division—even if cleared in two or three days—his PMC application for Panlong Security Consultants would be dead in the water.
Even if the six tea-sipping old men vouched for him, it'd be useless.
No matter how strong your backing, how wide your network, a suspect under investigation by the Security Committee could not pass the system audit required to establish a Private Military Contractor.
The system didn't care about favors; it only cared about rules.
And to be blunt, HQ hadn't approved Li Pan's PMC proposal or his 30-million annual salary because he was a great manager—it was because of timing.
The fleet needed resupply.
The company needed manpower.
TheM needed a bidder.
Since Li Pan could patch all three, fine—throw money at him and get it done.
But the truth?
0791 had plenty of legal citizens, plenty with fleet connections, and mercenaries everywhere. If the company really wanted a "white glove," anyone could do it. Why him?
Now look—he'd lost the hen and the rice. Not only was the 60 billion gone, the 418 billion deal might vanish too. Li Pan was frantic.
He ditched work, ignored corporate security, dragged the Mediterranean lawyer straight to the Security Bureau, calling Uncle Chen for help on the way.
The Bureau—executive arm of the Direct Committee—wasn't a place civilians just walked into.
Its prestige was such that most people had never even heard of it.
Thanks to his Monster Corp manager title, Li Pan managed to sit in the reception hall with the lawyer for two hours before Uncle Chen strolled out of the elevator with a small briefcase.
"Uncle Chen! How'd it go?"
"Nothing major," Chen said, sitting down and handing over a stack of papers. "Sign these, and your accounts will be unfrozen."
"Uncle Chen, you're a lifesaver!" Li Pan nearly worshiped him.
Chen looked at him. "But your PMC application was rejected."
Li Pan froze. "Nani!?"
Chen signaled to the lawyer, who took the papers next door to sign them. Then Chen turned back, meeting Li Pan's twitching, near–second-phase glare.
"Xiao Li, remember when we first met? I said I'd help you once. You told me—no need."
Li Pan glared silently.
"The Seventh Division has opened a case on you," Chen said slowly. "Doesn't matter what they find. Once it's filed, every move you make gets reported to their task group.
They can pull your logs anytime—especially anything tied to file audits. If they want to stall, they can drag this one or two years. Everything you try to do will be affected.
Maybe it's aimed at your company, maybe it's just you."
"…Aimed at me?"
Li Pan sat down. The implication sank in.
"You mean… that bastard from the photo—is in Section Seven?"
Chen's silence was confirmation.
That son of a bitch…
Li Pan covered his face, suppressing the killing intent under his skin.
Sure, if the Security Bureau had been chasing him, fine—he was tangled with the Red Tengu, after all.
But Section Seven? What the hell was their problem? There were thousands of tax cheats and money launderers! Loan-shark gangs kidnapping people under your cameras and you do nothing!
But a model citizen like Li Pan—donating to urban renewal, marine ecology, and veteran re-employment—you hound him!?
Oh… that's the root of it.
The square-faced bastard with the thick brows in Yamazaki Ayato's photo.
Back at the academy, that prick had sabotaged him to steal his Security Bureau slot—nearly killed him.
Now he'd climbed to Section Seven, blocking every path, throwing knives from the shadows.
Old grudges die hard.
But in fairness—if your school rival suddenly hit the jackpot, became a GM, CEO, billionaire, and was founding a private army—you'd lose sleep too.
"Damn it… what was that bastard's name again? Where does he live?"
Li Pan had been too busy cultivating and chasing money to remember. Now all he could call him was that bastard.
Chen sighed.
"Xiao Li, we both know this mess is personal—it's not tied to TheM. I came under my consulting firm's name to smooth things out.
But Bureau intel? Four words—no comment.
Off the record—keep your head down. You're now on a monitored list. Until the investigation closes, you're under observation.
If a field agent dies and you're even tangentially linked, it's over. Not even your company will protect you."
"Keep my head down? How!? I've got a 1.5-trillion bounty on my head, every corporation wants me dead, and that bastard keeps poking me! How do I stay calm!?"
Li Pan's temples throbbed. He breathed deep.
"Uncle Chen, you know what 0791's like. If this PMC doesn't go through, TheM won't let me walk away.
Can't you coordinate? Delay the case? As long as the PMC passes, I can handle the rest."
Chen: "As long as the PMC passes?"
Li Pan nodded. "Yes."
Chen folded his arms. "Then change the applicant."
Li Pan blinked. "Change the… legal entity?"
"The company just wants an empty shell to hire mercs under. You're under scrutiny; you won't pass anytime soon. So let the company use someone who will pass. Just a formality—the company will buy it anyway."
"You mean… Yamazaki?"
Chen nodded.
Li Pan's eyes went cold.
"Uncle Chen—tell me honestly. My investigation—did that bastard push it? He's new. He can't have that power. Unless you people planned this—to replace me, infiltrate the company…"
Chen patted his shoulder.
"Don't overthink it. Wars need more than one contractor. When the heat dies down, you'll get another shot."
Li Pan's teeth ground audibly.
"When the heat dies down? My PMC will be worth nothing! You're robbing me of hundreds of billions! Yamazaki doesn't have collateral—how'll he post the bonds!?"
Chen smiled.
"He'll manage."
That smile said it all.
He'll manage—because you won't.
No point resisting. This was the Bureau's play.
They'd let the company form its PMC—sure—but they'd also insert their man.
Hell, they probably knew about the fleet asset purchase too. You couldn't hide a fleet-scale mobilization from the Bureau.
Maybe one of those "six tea drinkers" was already a Bureau plant.
Li Pan had gone too big. The Bureau had to step in.
The Committee would never truly hand a full battle fleet to a corporation unchecked.
Refuse? With what leverage?
The 007 assassination file was in Bureau hands.
His accounts were in Bureau hands.
Even company formation approval was in Bureau hands.
But damn it—this was 418.5 billion!
"Uncle Chen, I've been the one running around greasing palms, spending billions. And now you open your mouths and snatch all the peaches I planted? Don't you think that's a bit… ugly?"
Li Pan's voice trembled with cold fury.
Chen sighed.
"Xiao Li, I won't sugarcoat it. You're talented—few can do what you do. The Bureau's loss is real.
But this is how the world works. The young bleed, the old feed. Think it over—you've got time."
A knock came. The lawyer returned—paperwork complete.
Chen patted his shoulder and went to talk with the lawyer.
When Li Pan stepped out of the Bureau, his case file signed and his accounts unfrozen, the 60 billion Yulia asset was still gone.
As the lawyer said, she'd deliberately violated law and self-reported. Assets frozen. Stocks and bonds worthless.
The Night Group filed bankruptcy and restructured.
Yulia herself fled to the Night Imperial Capital.
The Bureau would now have to file an interstellar request for extradition. To clear the case, unfreeze the funds—might take till the Year of the Monkey.
Meanwhile, his PMC Panlong Security Consultants application—rejected.
418.5 billion, 30-million salary—gone.
Yesterday's proposal—a pile of wastepaper.
Dreams like bubbles bursting.
All for nothing.
Li Pan stood outside the Bureau, staring at the dazzling sunlight.
Ah… broke again.
Let the world burn.
"Manager Li, fancy seeing you here."
He turned, dazed. The lawyer had vanished. A female officer in uniform stood beside him.
Golden hair. Tight jacket. The police badge gleamed in the sun.
"Inspector Irene Reigen…"
"Waiting for a ride? No cabs can stop here. Let me drive you."
She gestured, and a maglev supercar dropped from the sky.
Still dazed from losing hundreds of billions, Li Pan shook his head.
"No thanks. Not in the mood."
Reigen raised an eyebrow, scanning him up and down—but didn't get in the car.
"I recall your file said you graduated from the Military Engineering Academy, right?"
Li Pan blinked. "Yeah?"
Reigen flicked her wrist; a projection popped up—a square-faced man with heavy brows.
"You know Ryoma Itō?"
Li Pan squinted. "Seen him. Not close. Why?"
Reigen smirked.
"Blind date my family arranged. Graduates from your academy are rare in Security. If you don't know him, never mind."
She slipped into her car—but Li Pan held the door.
"Hey, Superintendent—add me. I'll ask around. If I dig up dirt—exes, bastard kids, unpaid loans—I'll send it your way."
Her eyes glinted. "Sweep-head, huh? Approved."
He grinned. "See you then, Golden Swallow."
The supercar roared off into the horizon. Li Pan inhaled sharply, refocused, and barked into his comm:
"Oi, Nana! Is the HAYABUSA prepped? Good! Launch! Jump to Callisto—activate the beacon! Bring me a fleet!
Yeah, right now! I'm outside the Bureau—I wanna see who dares stop me!"
And of course, no one dared.
Technically, since he was under investigation, firing up a jump beacon gave the Bureau full reason to arrest him for "plotting to assassinate the Grand Duchess."
But nothing happened.
Which said it all.
The beacon signal was under total system surveillance.
If the Bureau wanted, they knew every move—every second.
But truth didn't matter. They just needed leverage.
The Security System was powerful—omniscient.
It saw every crime, every sin, every lie in Night City.
But it only watched.
If you thought "Public Security" meant "citizen safety," you were naive.
The Bureau served the Committee.
NCPA were the corporations' dogs.
A regular citizen scraping a trash bin got caught on camera and beaten half to death.
But a corp dog dropping terrorists on Night execs—walks free.
Why would they arrest Li Pan?
They still needed him—to liaise with TheM, to form the Yamazaki PMC, to secure their billion-cut. No way they'd lock him up.
And so Li Pan accepted it: this was how the world worked.
Rules bound the weak.
Money followed strength.
Once, as a mere mortal, his life had been worth 300,000 at best—gutting fish, scavenging junk, living bankrupt.
Now, at Nine Yin Fourth Turn, his "combat power" was billion-tier. He could earn tens of billions to spend.
But chasing too much money beyond your level—no matter how fat the meat—you couldn't hold it.
The bigger beasts would smell it and pounce.
So his brother had been right—retreat, cultivate, level up.
When I master my divine arts and stand unmatched—
All you bastards who fed on me will vomit it back out!
Resolved, Li Pan returned to HQ, pulled Yamazaki Ayato and Finance, and drafted a revised proposal.
Now the PMC would be founded under Yamazaki's citizen credentials, backed by his family assets and Bureau-endorsed loans.
Collateral? No problem. If Yamazaki couldn't post it, the Bureau would.
The company would still sell it to TheM for 465 billion, unchanged.
Yamazaki would keep 1% equity and must serve as manager.
Meaning the Bureau got its overseer—its monitor inside the fleet.
Because of this single clause, Li Pan lost the procurement price, lost the manager salary—left with a one-time commission.
By company standard—0.2% of the buyout: 93 million.
Barely enough to cover his 50-million PR expenses and 42-million direct losses.
Maybe the extra million was a "thanks for the effort" tip.
The proposal was approved.
The company gained forces and supplies.
The fleet got its funding.
The Bureau got its monitor.
Li Pan and Yamazaki each got a silver key.
Everyone won.
Li Pan, done playing along, waited for the 93 million to hit his account, dumped the PMC paperwork on Yamazaki Ayato, and took a shuttle straight to orbital storage to regroup with Nana and the others.
He'd been played—but he'd use the chaos to cut his losses. While everyone's eyes were glued to PMC launches and fleet maneuvers, he'd quietly retrieve that 35-million cargo.
418 billion was money.
Thirty-five million was also money.
Every bit counted.
But this wasn't over.
Sure, Li Pan might now be a law-abiding corporate hound with 80 billion in assets—more to lose, more restraint.
He could swallow this for now.
But Li Blood-Red wouldn't.
He'd buy a vampire traitor, forge the Unit-02, perfect the Blood God Child Technique—
And when that day came—
he'd kill every last bastard that crossed him.
Only then would his heart be at peace.
.
.
.
⚠️ 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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