Akiyama Masako sat in seiza, both hands hovering as though gripping an invisible sword at her left hip. With her left thumb she pushed the imaginary tsuba forward, while her right thumb and forefinger locked together, tiger's mouth firm around an unseen hilt. After three breaths, she exhaled sharply, straightened, and whipped her arms in the motion of drawing and cutting with a blade.
Then, knees still bent, she mimed shaking blood from the sword and sheathing it, lowering her hips slowly until her palms rested once more upon her thighs. Her knees touched the floor again in formal closure.
Thus the iai kata ended. Masako turned to meet Li Pan's eyes.
"…That's it? Finished? Come on, are you playing me? Just one swing? Show me something real!"
Li Pan was speechless. He shoved Masako aside, then pointed to the dancing machine-girl still gyrating in the room.
"Go on, lop her head off. Use some force! If it breaks, I'll pay!"
Masako hesitated. She realized that simply striking empty air in front of a layman was half-hearted. If she wanted to sell a "secret art" worth ten million, she had to show some sincerity.
So she inhaled—hissed—and gathered her qi into her palm. Her hand chopped forward, sending out a gust.
A thin blade of wind rushed forth, brushing the machine-girl's bangs.
Li Pan blinked. "Uh… that's it?"
Yes, that was it.
He had kept his hand on Masako the whole time, monitoring her breathing method, and had already seen through the trick.
Isshinryū…
Trash.
Seriously, what was so mystical about this? A "secret art"? It was nothing more than the most basic application of qi—running breath along the Lung and Triple Burner meridians, swirling power at the wrist into a vortex, and releasing it as a so-called "air blade." Nine Yin Body Refinement was harder than this.
And the energy blade lost force the further it traveled. In the end, it was weaker than his casual True Dragon Break.
But the iaijutsu strike he'd seen before hadn't been fake. That swordsman's slash had real force. Why was Masako's so feeble?
Was she hiding her true strength? Or was Li Pan's own perception lacking? Could he not see the hidden core of Isshinryū?
No way. Did he really need to pay ten million for this parlor trick?
Masako, seeing his skepticism, flushed and hurriedly explained:
"T-this technique requires a famed blade to show its full might. The older the sword, the stronger the effect! My Kiku-Ichimonji isn't here today. When you visit the dōjō and see it with a real sword, you'll understand Isshinryū's power."
"A real sword?"
Li Pan paused. Then, suddenly, clarity struck.
Of course—a real sword.
A monster.
It sounded absurd, but this was the world of 0791. Its "heaven's law."
Energy from other worlds, projected here, manifested as monsters.
That was why his incomplete monkey-style sword qi, when attached to a blade, had been unstoppable—yet the True Dragon Break, unleashed barehanded, barely shoved opponents aside.
To draw out true might in this world, you needed monsters.
"I see! Isshinryū's secrets are truly profound. Another day, madam, I will visit your dōjō for instruction."
Suppressing the urge to run out and test his theory on the spot, Li Pan politely saw her off.
Masako left somewhat crestfallen. Opportunities to earn ten million were rare. Still, she reminded him that Isshinryū had more than iai—many refined forms and killing techniques—and urged him to come to the dōjō. Then, donning her coat, she left, glancing back with every step.
No time to waste. With this revelation, Li Pan wanted to immediately try a field run.
But just as he stepped out, another call came through.
This time, from Orange.
What the hell was going on today? Was he suddenly… popular?
"Yo, Orange? What's up?"
"Got a moment? Help me tie someone up."
Wow. Kidnapping? Demanding ransom? He was in.
He followed her coordinates to a nightclub in the Old Capital District. According to NCPA's bounty listings, the whole street—nightclubs, casinos, hotels—belonged to the Tojo-kai.
With Takamagahara and Tokugawa backing them, unlike the displaced gangs pushed to the outskirts, the Tojo-kai dominated the city center, protected by corrupt NCPA cops. You could assassinate their people, maybe, but storming their turf? Not happening.
At the intersections, lookouts were everywhere. Tonight, crowds gathered—not for a war, but for the Explosive Ball Championship.
Yes, that game—hold a ball until it explodes. Boom. Players burst into sprays of intestines and gore. Men and women alike screamed, howled, cheered as body parts rained down. Between rounds, they butchered random vagrants, dancing with guts draped over their shoulders, drugged to the gills.
This wasn't just gangs—Explosive Ball was one of the most popular bloodsports across worlds. Just below mecha fights and lightsaber duels. Aristocrats had theirs; the masses had this.
Sport, decapitation, explosions, balls—all rolled into one. Infinite joy.
While the mob roared, Li Pan circled to the parking lot, where his Imperial 620 waited. Orange crouched inside, still in her filthy NCHC jacket, jeans, and work boots. Her red hair was tied back, sunglasses and a spray-paint mask hiding her face. A police-issue shotgun lay in her hands, a monomolecular knife at her belt.
Li Pan slipped into the car.
"What's this? A cyberpunk job? This place is crawling with cameras—you'll get flagged. And your gear? You call this prep? Who's the target? Got a photo? Any intel at all?"
Orange gritted her teeth.
"It's not a job. It's Ian Campbell. I tailed him myself. He went into that club."
"Oh… him."
Yes—Li Pan had given her his file. Ian Campbell, HR director of Argyle Electronics under the Night Group. His son, Guy Campbell, had used Dahe Huang as a punching bag, nearly ruining the family. And Dad had been the one to twist the knife.
So this was Orange's debut revenge hit. Understandable.
"Orange, don't tell me you're just going to charge in. Do you know why this club hasn't been raided? It's Tojo-kai territory. Even the strays on the street have tattoos. And Campbell? His ancestor, the Duke of Argyle, was ennobled for technical achievements, embraced as a blood-elder. They're direct line, not thralls. Touching them is a declaration of war against the Night Group.
And even then—you don't know if this is his real body or just a shell. Suppose you grab him—no hacker to lock systems down—you'd be in deep trouble."
"Fine," Orange glared. "Then I'll do it myself."
Damn. She was really that stubborn. Rage had blinded her.
Li Pan sighed. "Alright, I'll help. But three rules: listen to me, listen to me, listen to me. Agree—or I knock you out and drag you off."
Orange racked the shotgun and nodded.
"Good. Here, take this."
He handed her the Black Kite pistol.
"I'll storm in and kill everyone. Leave Campbell alive. Wait for my signal. A hacker will ping you with blind spots. Slip in and drag him out."
Orange stared at the weapon, tucked it into her belt. "This is your plan? Seriously?"
Li Pan smirked, pulling a white handkerchief from his pocket. He rubbed it across his face. When he withdrew it, the silver key within vanished into the cloth.
"What plan do I need? Full kit, hit 'A', done. In chaos, exploit weakness. Feast in darkness."
"…What?"
"Fishing in troubled waters."
He draped the cloth over his face. In an instant, his features vanished—flattened, faceless, like a pale steamed bun.
Orange shivered. When she looked again, Li Pan was gone from the car. Outside, beneath neon lights, a tall figure stood in a black suit, cloth-shrouded face gleaming faintly in the night.
"The hell—when did you get there?! Nearly gave me a heart attack!"
"Virtual projection? A hack?"
"No, he's casting a shadow—he's real. Hey! Answer me!"
The doormen weren't fools. At the sight of the faceless figure in a black suit, they drew their guns.
Orange felt the air grow cold. Frost spread across the windows. Mist rolled in, veiling the street.
The figure raised his hand, as though gripping an invisible spear, aimed at the nightclub's doors.
And then—
A crack.
The street itself split. Not a wall, but a sonic boom tearing atmosphere apart, shattering fog and dust like a spreading frost-flower.
"BOOM—!!"
It was a dragon's roar.
Wind, shockwave, thunder—everything in its path annihilated.
The Tojo-kai nightclub vanished, along with buildings in a straight line behind it. A vast rift tore open the earth, concrete and alloy churned into a rolling wave.
From above, it looked like lightning burned into the ground—or a dragon passing through.
Alarms screamed across the city.
"Hoo—fuck! That was awesome!"
Orange gaped, jaw hanging. Li Pan was suddenly back in the passenger seat, folding the handkerchief in his hands.
"Damn… my bad. Miscalculated. I only meant to test it. Didn't expect a full-power release—with a double boost, no less. Still, Campbell should've survived. Plan's not failed yet. Let's hit the hospital. Drive!"
The Imperial 620 peeled out, autopilot set for the nearest hospital.
Orange stared. "Survived? After that?"
"He's HR, not high enough for premium bodyguards, but his company still gave him a level-five shell. Even if his body's pulp, his brain-jack's probably intact. Emergency transfer is standard. Hospitals are always first on-scene for public safety incidents. You've got that NCHC uniform—perfect to slip in."
Her eyes stayed on the handkerchief. "What the hell is that thing?"
"If I told you, they'd dock my pay for a month."
…2,500? Whatever.
"It's a monster. Our company collects these. Pretty good punch, huh? About the same as a cruiser-grade railgun."
Orange swallowed hard, unable to look away.
Li Pan smirked. "What's wrong? Cold feet? You can still go back to normal life."
She froze, clenched her jaw. "No going back."
Li Pan shrugged, reclining. "Relax. It's never too late to start over."
By the time they reached the hospital, the streets were swarming with emergency, police, and military vehicles. Normally, Security Bureau ignored gang wars—but someone had just fired a level-seven ship cannon into a business district. Too big to ignore.
Corpses and survivors alike were dragged in by drones. Those with cash—captains, lieutenants—were rushed to surgery. The rest were dumped outside to die.
Orange slipped in the back under Eighteen's guidance, while Li Pan loitered at the front.
Seeing the piles of half-dead gangsters, Li Pan's eyes lit up. Free money. He pulled his silver awl and began stabbing them one by one.
"Hey! What are you doing? Stop!"
He looked up. A familiar face.
"Oh, if it isn't Inspector Reagan, Night City's own police belle. Pleasure to finally meet."
"Pleasure my ass! Who are you?! Murdering people in broad daylight—I'm placing you under arrest!"
Angela Reagan glared, gun raised, at the dozen thugs Li Pan had just finished off.
Li Pan sighed. "Seriously? You can't recognize me unless I spell it out? Here—bounty license. Look. I'm not murdering, I'm maintaining order. These were all on NCPA's wanted list. See? Tax Bureau already paid me 4,250 credits."
"…That… doesn't matter! They were unconscious, defenseless! Executing them is despicable, unfair!"
She had only just arrived, and hadn't realized all the wounded carried bounties of five hundred or a thousand each.
Li Pan rolled his eyes. "Wow, Inspector, you're so righteous—treating gangsters fairly too."
"That's right!" Angela stiffened her spine. "They deserve arrest, trial, justice! As long as I'm here, you'll kill no one else in front of me!"
"Heh. Really? Fine." As a ring of NCPA patrolmen closed in, Li Pan tucked away his awl. "But tell me, Inspector—have you ever seen the Tojo-kai initiation ceremony?"
"…Initiation…?"
"BANG BANG BANG!!"
Gunfire erupted. Angela spun around in shock.
The patrolmen had drawn private pistols, expressionless, and executed the wounded one by one. Smart rounds weren't fatal enough, so the rest used batons, pulping skulls and scattering chips. Corpses were dragged into piles and burned with gasoline.
A massacre, pure and simple.
.
.
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⚠️ 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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