[Congratulations on your appointment as a Backstreets Butcher]
[Acquired Work Talent: Master of Human Affairs]
[Description: Whether being human or making humans, it is an art.]
[Effect 1: Through tasting, you can discern the quality of ingredients and identify their killing weaknesses.]
[Effect 2: You gain mastery over cooking.]
"Putato, what are you doing?"
Zulu finally spoke, watching Putato prepare to leave with Yixin.
"Don't worry, we're just going to discuss culinary techniques. The transaction is proceeding smoothly. Boss Zulu, wait here for now."
The two walked out of the parking lot, one after the other. Putato reached out, bit off a piece of dead skin from his finger, and swallowed it.
As he delicately chewed, an invisible essence seemed to flow out.
Sour and spicy!
"Ptooie, ptooie, ptooie!"
"What are you eating?"
The extreme sourness, coldness, spiciness, and bitterness made Putato reflexively spit out the skin. Immediately after, he perceived his two killing weaknesses.
First was a slight imbalance caused by the implant in his right ear. Second was the stitched wound on his chest.
What a terrifying insight!
No, this shouldn't be called insight—this was weakness licking!
"It's truly delicious."
Just as Putato realized the nature of his talent, Yixin was already excitedly touching the finger he had just bitten.
Now, he could actually feel a soft, wet tongue swirling around his finger, eventually sucking it in like a lollipop.
"Get away from me!"
Putato yanked his finger away, immediately feeling a numbing sensation spread through his hand. He couldn't even curl his fingers.
Although this scene might look like a foolish woman offering a few favors, Putato knew the true nature of these Backstreets Butchers. They were remorseless cannibals who wouldn't bat an eye!
Putato drew his small knife, his entire body tensed, no longer daring to let this madwoman get close.
This woman truly craved his body!
"Even without added seasoning, it's so delicious. That flavor is passionate and pure—truly exquisite."
"Don't worry, I won't bite you without your permission. Just let me lick it again."
Yixin, completely unconcerned with her image, wiped the saliva from the corner of her mouth. She ignored Putato's aggressive stance, her nostrils flaring slightly as she sniffed the air around him.
Putato could still understand the logic of the people he had faced before, and even cautiously contend with them.
But faced with Yixin, a pure lunatic, he couldn't formulate a countermeasure.
"I have money!"
Suddenly, Yixin excitedly dropped her cleaver and rummaged through her apron, pulling out a small black pouch. Opening it, it was stuffed with banknotes.
This was likely the payment originally intended for Stray Dogs in this transaction.
"It's all for you, as long as you like it."
Taking advantage of Putato's stunned acceptance of the money bag, Yixin wrapped her arms around his neck and began to vigorously lick him.
That strange tingling sensation returned. Putato felt his throat loosen, and his breathing suddenly became effortless.
This woman was no mere obsessive; she was definitely licking away some unknown substance from his skin!
"Stop it! This amount of money..." he panted, "...is only enough to lick this far."
Cupping his neck, Putato still struggled for air even after pushing Yixin away.
Yixin remained unsatisfied, her eyes fixed on Putato with predatory intensity. She lowered her head, looking almost shy.
"Why don't you just stay? I'll open a private kitchen just for you. I have all the ingredients you could ever need."
"If you accidentally die out there, I'll be devastated. No, I'll go insane."
"I haven't tasted such a pure, authentic flavor in a long time. If you don't return, I'll have no choice but to eat myself."
Her tone dropped lower and lower, but Putato's sense of danger only grew stronger.
This oppressive aura far surpassed even the strongest Gyeong-mi Putato had ever encountered!
Even with the Hematic Pump activated, facing this compulsion felt like being a single grain of sand in a vast desert.
"May I be so bold as to ask... do you hold a special title?"
"Just a mere kitchen helper, far inferior to you. Are you perhaps thinking of making a name for yourself in Backstreet 23?"
"No problem. I'll arrange for other Chefs to start the grand competition early. You'll surely become one of the new Eight Chefs. Everyone will kneel before you."
"I understand what a Life's Menu is. This magnificent culinary art of The City is pure genius. How on earth did you season yourself to be so delicious?"
"Please, share your secret with me! I'll pay any price."
Sweat dripped down Putato's brow.
At this moment, he didn't care about the Stray Dogs mission anymore. He only wished to escape this place as quickly as possible.
The assessment targets of an Association aren't limited to Syndicates. Any group or individual can be targeted as long as a commission is paid.
The Eight Chefs might sound like ordinary cooks, but they are actually the equivalent of the Five Fingers—the pinnacle of Syndicates, also known as Stars of the City!
"Restraint, absolute restraint!"
"I believe that when it comes to delicacies, one must never devour them whole. Otherwise, one can only regret eating in haste later."
Putato tried his best to remain calm. This person in front of him claimed she could summon other Chefs. Her identity wasn't hard to guess; she was very likely one of the Chefs herself!
However, in the game, only the sole surviving Chef had ever appeared, so he couldn't confirm it now.
But Putato was certain she wasn't just a Backstreets Butcher. Otherwise, the talent he had just obtained wouldn't be at such a low level.
In this cursed district of Backstreet 23, the Eight Chefs were local emperors, commanding the Butchers with ease.
"Don't worry, I wouldn't be so crude. Your Life's Menu clearly isn't finished yet."
"And eating you now would only lead to despair. I wouldn't be able to taste something so perfect again, so I might as well die."
Putato secretly breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wouldn't be killed yet.
"However, we must keep in close contact."
"If I don't know where you are, I won't be able to bear it."
With an incomprehensible level of devotion, Yixin began to lick and gnaw at her own arm.
She bowed her head, eating until blood splattered from her own flesh, leaving crimson stains across Putato's face.
"This kind of desire for your flavor... it isn't bad either."
"Oh, don't misunderstand! These other meals are no match for you. You are unique!"
Who asked you?!
Putato, facing Yixin's burning gaze, slowly crept back toward the parking lot until the massive iron cage at the entrance finally obscured her figure.
Putting on his headphones with trembling hands, Putato pressed play on a song.
"Mo, are you there?"
"Putato! Putato!"
Much better this time.
He still had to attempt to install Prosthetics on these three tools. At least then they would be of some use.
"Why are you shaking?"
Zulu looked at Putato, puzzled by his full-body tremors. He suspected the man might have indulged in drugs with that woman.
Enkephalins were reliable—they provided a sense of ease without driving one into madness.
"The goods are paid for. We should head back."
What was a Star of the City anyway? He would become the pinnacle of this world, sooner or later.
Putato repeated this to himself several times, quickly regaining his composure.
Mere fear couldn't defeat him.
This was simply his first time encountering such a high-level character; he just lacked experience. He would surely know how to handle it next time!
"Alright, everyone, get in the car."
Zulu didn't bother inspecting the goods. He signaled his subordinate to lock the rear door of the truck and prepare for the return trip.
...
Sitting in the passenger seat, Putato was consumed by an urgent need to be promoted and grow stronger.
The City was no ordinary level-grinding dungeon. Even at low levels, one could stumble upon Stars of the City or Color Fixers.
He couldn't afford to slowly crawl his way up. He had to take the initiative!
"Boss Zulu, I heard The Thumb is planning to eliminate Void Fist. Are we Stray Dogs participating in this?"
"Are these recent large-scale purges in The Backstreets preparations for the hit?"
Zulu glanced at Putato, whose clothes were drenched in sweat. He was morbidly curious about what exactly had transpired with that female Butcher to leave him looking so exhausted.
Sigh, running a Syndicate isn't easy for anyone.
For a moment, he even felt a flicker of pity and sympathy for Putato.
Bang!
Just as Zulu was about to speak, a large cargo truck veered sharply toward them. The collision instantly destabilized their vehicle.
Putato, caught off guard, was slammed against the car door.
"All of you, out! If you don't want to die, be quick about it!"
"The Backstreets truly offer no moment of peace."
Putato calmly observed the aggressors approaching from the right.
They wore red-sleeved coats, and most donned fanged masks—they looked like a respectable Syndicate.
The leader, Tae-in, seeing that the refrigerated truck showed no signs of slowing down, impatiently ordered the crew to be slaughtered.
What caught Putato's eye was the massive scythe-like weapon beside Tae-in. It wasn't merely held in his hand; it was physically grafted to his flesh.
"Anyway, these guys only listen when a blade is at their throat. Once you're outside Stray Dogs' territory, no one shows any respect." Zulu wasn't surprised by the ambush.
The moment the vehicle attempted to pass, the scythe—emblazoned with the Union Co. brand—swung violently, carving a hideous gash into the steel body of the truck.
Zulu slammed on the brakes, showing no fear.
"If our convoy could display The Thumb's symbol, it would be great. Fewer idiots would dare attack us. Unfortunately, it doesn't fit the class etiquette."
The rushing gang members tried to scramble onto the car door, only to be greeted by Zulu's fist, which instantly detonated one of their heads.
Pushing open the door, Zulu shook the blood from his hand and leaped down to meet the enemy.
Putato, still in his seat, looked at the gang members attacking from the other side. His gaze fixed on the man equipped with the biological scythe. "Hey, Brother Scythe, did you buy that bio-weapon at Union Co.? Is it compatible with Prosthetic modifications?"
"I'm thinking of getting one myself and cosplaying as a mantis."
Putato leaned against the window and motioned mockingly toward Tae-in.
This instantly infuriated Tae-in. He didn't even bother with threats.
An unusually sharp scythe plunged through the window, aiming to impale Putato's head. A cruel smirk tugged at the corner of Tae-in's mouth beneath his mask.
Clang!
Putato drew his small knife, parrying the scythe with fierce precision before nimbly diving out of the window. His extreme agility forced Tae-in into a hasty retreat.
A lightning-fast strike aimed for the face. Tae-in narrowly dodged, yet felt as though he had already stepped through the gates of hell.
The ordinary knife that had grazed his cheek was short and unremarkable. Normally, Tae-in would have been 100% confident in snapping an enemy with such a ridiculous weapon into pieces. Now, a thin line of blood appeared on his face.
"I'll kill you!"
A second, slightly smaller scythe beside Tae-in swept across the air, determined to disembowel Putato.
A long crimson trail immediately appeared beneath Putato's collarbone. He quickly recoiled, lightly tasting the blood on his blade.
"Why do you taste so spicy... and a bit spoiled?"
"I want to eat you!"
Tae-in, his eyes bloodshot with rage, charged again. He spun violently, bringing with him a lethal flurry of blades and shadows.
Swish!
Putato suddenly hurled his knife, burying it in Tae-in's right eye. The agonizing pain in his socket caused the leader's movements to falter.
Dodging the main scythe, Putato executed a front flip toward Tae-in. He grabbed the hilt of the embedded blade and deftly ripped it out, painting a crimson arc across the air.
"Ah!!"
Tae-in, clutching his ruined eye, collapsed to the ground. McCullin, wielding a massive greatsword, immediately stepped in to shield him.
"A misunderstanding! This is all a misunderstanding!"
"What kind of misunderstanding?" Putato asked coldly.
"We thought you were just stray travelers or merchants from another sector. We didn't expect such strength. We won't cross your path again."
Without waiting for a response or informing the rest of the crew, McCullin hauled Tae-in up and prepared to retreat.
Putato let out a sharp, exasperated laugh. The City was truly perverse. Could an unprovoked ambush like this really be brushed off as a 'misunderstanding'?
It was only because his current speed far surpassed that of an ordinary person that he could toy with them. Had he engaged in a direct head-to-head clash, he sensed that scythe could have easily sent him flying over ten meters.
As the Syndicate members scrambled away, Zulu spat a glob of blood onto the pavement before climbing back into the truck.
"Putato, why are you lingering? Get in! These bottom-tier Syndicates crawl out of the woodwork every few days. They aren't worth the breath."
"I've taken a liking to that biological weapon, Boss Zulu."
"Who the hell is waiting for you? We've already wasted enough time on this detour. Get in now, or I'm leaving your ass behind."
Putato completely ignored the threat. He knew the goods were still under his control; no matter how many times Zulu barked, he wouldn't abandon the profit.
Money was the only true authority here.
Tracking the crimson trail on the asphalt, Putato pursued them.
"Woof woof! Human thigh patties—the perfect fuel for a Backstreet 23 physique! Your premier fast-food choice!"
Stepping out of an alley, Putato witnessed a bizarre street scene across the road. A teenage girl with brown hair, encased in a ridiculous, oversized hotdog mascot costume, was sprawled on the ground, desperately clinging to a customer's leg.
In his blind haste, Tae-in accidentally kicked the girl, sending her tumbling.
"You idiot, watch where you're going!" Tae-in roared, blood still seeping through his fingers. He lashed out with his scythe, shredding the mascot costume in a fit of rage.
Lesti, having narrowly avoided the blade, immediately prostrated herself, offering profuse apologies for an accident she didn't even cause.
"You... you apologize quite sincerely, don't you?" Tae-in sneered, his fury unabated.
"Yes, sir! Please, forgive me!"
"However... I despise hypocritical bastards like you most of all!"
Slash!
Sensing the lethal intent, Lesti twisted her body. The cold steel of the scythe grazed the tip of her nose.
"No! Sir, I have money!"
"I'm about to pass the exams and join a Wing of the World! I'll have plenty of credits to compensate you then!"
"A Wing? That's the most f***ed-up arrangement of all. Now I hate you even more!"
The smaller secondary scythe swung in a horizontal arc, leaving her no room to escape.
Fear and despair paralyzed Lesti. She couldn't comprehend why, when she was just one step away from escaping the landfill that was The Backstreets, fate had decided to cut her down.
Bang!
The expected strike never landed. Regaining her senses, Lesti looked up to see Putato, who had just sent Tae-in flying with a well-placed kick.
"Pu—Putato?"
Hearing his name, Putato was more surprised than his opponent. He had actually run into an old acquaintance.
Still, he had a prize to collect.
"Hey. Leave that biological weapon behind, or you die here."
Noticing the scattered people beginning to regroup, Putato decided to end the encounter swiftly.
McCullin, helping Tae-in to his feet, heard the ultimatum and didn't hesitate. He hacked off Tae-in's biological scythe and dragged the screaming leader into the shadows of a nearby alley.
"Thanks, Putato. Looks like you're moving up in the world. Consider the money I owed you forgotten."
"Indeed. Leaving that godforsaken hole was the right choice."
Staggering to her feet, Lesti shed the tattered remnants of the hotdog suit. She froze as a stack of banknotes was thrust into her hand.
Putato had racked his brain and only remembered he was the one who owed her money. He pulled a portion from his recent earnings. Despite the chaos he lived in, he maintained a strict code: repay every kindness and avenge every grievance.
"Uh... I don't need this. Besides, Putato, you didn't borrow nearly this much."
Lesti let out a soft chuckle, scratching her short, flattened golden hair. The stifling mascot suit had ruined her hairstyle, but she didn't seem to care.
Looking at her, Putato felt momentarily dazed. He hadn't seen a smile that genuine in a long time.
"What bullshit are you talking about? I borrowed it, so I'm paying it back. High interest—nine-tenths for the debt, thirteen-tenths for me. Now go get that job at the Wing and stay out of trouble!"
"Fine then! You clearly won't regret betting on me!"
In the harsh reality of The City, a mutual debt was often a stronger bond than any friendship.
As Lesti clutched the cash to her chest and watched Putato walk away, her mind raced with strange thoughts. There was an indescribable uniqueness to him now.
"Putato, see you around."
"Mhm."
Putato gave a dismissive wave without looking back. Lesti quickly fled the scene before her boss or any other thugs could find her.
...
Phew.
Slumping back into the passenger seat, Putato examined the biological scythe. It was a grotesque work of art, currently shifting into a dormant state.
"What took you so long just to grab a giant chicken leg? Putato, you aren't planning on eating that thing, are you? Stewing a scythe?"
"Who the hell knows what happens if you consume a Union Co. bio-weapon? You'll probably end up with some horrific genetic disease."
"Thanks for the concern."
"Who the hell is concerned about you?!"
As Zulu revved the engine, he couldn't help but feel this guy was becoming increasingly strange. His usual aggression had settled into something colder, more focused.
Still, the mission was a success. Despite the detours and the blood, Zulu was satisfied. Nothing had gone wrong with the cargo.