Shiranui Kuko's vital signs were dangerously weak; she needed an emergency rollback. Li Pan took her back to the company first, leaving the other three on site to keep digging.
After all, they had actually dug out a living person this time—Security Bureau had no grounds to object. They immediately sealed off the scene, deployed a company of Type-III excavators, and tore up the entire cherry blossom grove, digging three feet deep to search for any possible clues.
But Li Pan figured they wouldn't find much more. Based on his previous experience in the hot springs, what they'd just seen should have been Kotarō's dream. Once the guy woke up, the dream ended.
Which meant that Sealing Kotarō probably wasn't dead yet. Judging by that indulgent, pink-hued dreamscape filled with intestinal imagery, and considering the usual methods by which the Sealing ninjas drew upon demonic power, chances were this guy was indeed heavily implicated in the case—just as Shiranui had said.
Still, the cherry blossom illusion had been dealt with, so the wakizashi monster probably wouldn't be able to stir up much trouble for now.
Tomorrow would tell. If Kotarō dared to skip work again, Li Pan would deal with him personally.
So he carried the jarred-up Shiranui—ahem, Kuko—back to the company for emergency treatment.
And you know what? In a way, the Archive Cabinet was terrifying. It had turned Shiranui Kuko into something like canned peaches—down to her last breath—and yet, with one rollback save, she was instantly restored to full health!
Severed limbs regrew, flesh knitted itself together, even the intestines that had been split open and fused with tree roots were restored to normal.
Physically, she looked unhurt now, but mentally the trauma was severe.
At the moment Shiranui Kuko remained in shock, as if trapped in a dream she refused to wake from. Her EKG spiked violently at times, even accompanied by seizures and incontinence.
Her body was out of danger, so it had to be that she simply didn't want to wake up.
Probably because the scene of being jarred had been too horrific—she'd hypnotized herself into numbness, fleeing from reality.
For now, Li Pan had no solution. He wasn't a psychiatrist—hell, he was the patient himself. What could he possibly do?
All he could do was file a workplace injury claim with the company and the Security Bureau, then send her to a hospital for nursing care.
The company's response was even colder: "Temps don't get injury compensation. If the Archive Cabinet can't fix her, then she's no longer usable. Recommend deleting her file and terminating employment."
Sigh. Look at the Security Bureau—even as ruthless as they were, at least they honored their contracts. They not only returned Shiranui Kuko's personal belongings and ninja gear she'd left before infiltrating the academy, but even sent an email of thanks, offering to cover her medical expenses.
In the end, it was always your own boss who screwed you hardest.
Li Pan didn't finish her off. After all, there might still be oil to squeeze from the Shiranui clan.
So he dropped her off at her Cloudtop apartment—and surprisingly, she hadn't changed the passcode. Being the "good colleague," he tossed her onto the bed, sent Principal Kōga a video message, and told her to come take care of her bestie's basic needs.
That fulfilled his workplace obligations. Li Pan then headed toward Ghost District.
Eighteen had sent him Orange's coordinates. She was in an abandoned shopping mall. From afar, he saw her step out of the shadows in a nurse outfit just as he jumped down from his hovercar.
"Wow, I really ought to gouge Campbell's eyeballs out. Otherwise I'll feel cheated."
No wonder the scene had been so chaotic earlier. Orange had managed to kidnap Ian Campbell with surprising ease. The nurse getup suited her well, too—the private hospital's nurse uniform was a snug white one-piece with a tight skirt, laced high-heeled boots, and fabric sleek enough not to stain with fluids. Obviously designed as a killer service to keep VIP patients coming back.
Then she tossed him a pair of eyeballs.
Li Pan caught them. "Damn, they really are eyeballs. You're quick."
"What, augments?"
"Full Level-5 cyberware. Should be the real guy. When No.18 tried to hack him, a deep-level confidentiality protocol triggered. His system chip executed a counter-abduction routine—burned out his tongue and delivered continuous electric shocks to keep his brain in forced comatose state. No info could be leaked.
"But your hacker friend said these cyber-eyes were aftermarket—Meiji Electronics. They had independent image caches, not integrated with the Ye Corporation system. We might be able to scan them for the last few days of video."
So No.18 had failed. Understandable—Campbell was a Ye Corp cadre. Their firewalls weren't easy to crack.
Li Pan pocketed the eyes.
"That's why I told you to wait. Company execs all have internal system restraints. Trip their protocols, and they'll burn themselves out.
"If you want to extract intel, you need pro hackers and full lab equipment to dissect the brain. But that kind of move would alert the Security Forces—practically a declaration of war."
Orange pulled out a heavy gun from under her skirt and handed it back.
"Doesn't matter. I don't care about intel. I just want him dead."
Well, fine. A shame—an exec like this could've been worth a few million.
Li Pan glanced into the mall's restroom. Ian Campbell was shackled inside. Judging from the wounds, he'd had his legs shot up repeatedly, then bullets dug out, wounds cauterized with a welder, kept barely alive to avoid triggering death alarms—then shot again. His three legs were ruined.
Yeah… best not to piss off a nurse.
Orange came in with a shotgun and blasted away, pelting him with civilian-grade shells. They couldn't penetrate Level-5 augments, but splattering his face hurt plenty, jolting him awake from unconsciousness before frying him back under. Torture on loop.
Then she tied up her hair, dragged over a fire axe. "Let's just kill him now?"
Li Pan thought it over. Best to do it before Ye Corp caught on. But safer if…
"There's a building nearby with signal jammers. Let's take him there to finish it."
She'd vented enough. Watching him die was all she wanted. No objections.
They stuffed Campbell into a sack and hauled him to the Ghost Tower.
"This place is creepy. A secret warehouse? Why not take the elevator?"
"The jammers are in the stairwell. If I suddenly disappear, stay put. I'll come save you."
"…Save?"
Li Pan slung Campbell over his shoulder, led the climb, and had Orange walk in front so she stayed in sight. That way, if she vanished, he'd notice. Also—bonus view of the peach-shaped hips under that nurse skirt.
They climbed up twenty-six flights when Orange suddenly stopped short, nearly making Li Pan face-plant into her ass.
"This one?"
"What's wrong…?"
Peering ahead, Li Pan froze.
On the wall between floors 26 and 27, a door had appeared.
Barely one-and-a-half meters tall—not built for people like him, more like crawling through a dog door. Red couplets hung on either side, like someone actually lived there.
Couplets—New Year's scrolls. Ink on red paper. Yet he couldn't read a single character.
But his brain carried an entire dictionary of ancient Huayu scripts. For him not to recognize a single symbol… these had to be something else. Some alien script?
And by the floor plan, that wall should back onto the elevator shaft.
He peeked inside. Nothing but pitch black.
"Hold on, let's go up two more floors."
"Not this one?"
Upstairs, he confirmed—there was weak signal up there.
So the Ghost Tower's inner space had changed again. Likely the monster's domain had been isolated, behind that short door.
"Yeah, it's probably there. Kill him outside and we'll get detected. Since we're here, I'll take a peek. You wait out here."
Orange frowned.
"This place is creepy. I'm not waiting alone. I'm going with you."
"Fine. Stay close and be ready to sprint."
He didn't mind. Last time he'd even pulled Fatty Martin out of here, and survived. Shouldn't be too bad.
So he tossed Campbell through the door, crouched, and crawled inside.
On the other side—it was still a stairwell.
Campbell lay motionless on the ground.
Li Pan drew the Sword of Saint Catherine, its golden glow lighting the darkness.
Yes—this was the same stairwell he'd been in before. But the "tremor" was gone. He touched the wall.
Icy cold—draining body heat straight to the bone.
Orange crawled through after him.
"Give me a hand, I'm stuck."
"Got you, sister. I'll—uh—help."
"You're saying weird stuff again… Another stairwell? This building's structure isn't right."
She saw it too: the small door connected twin stairwells, mirrored spirals of two buildings. Another world.
"Forget it. Let's just do it here. I brought incendiaries. Burn the chip clean or it'll still report."
So they executed Campbell in the stairwell, torched his chip, and crawled back out. No alarms, no monsters. An exec gone without a trace.
Consider it a free warehouse inspection. He could come back later to see what ghosts really lived here—and how much they were worth.
"So, feel better now?" Li Pan asked.
But despite vengeance, Orange didn't look happy.
"Want to go after his son? That'd be easier. Word is he hangs out at nightclubs, violent kinks, loves using working girls as punching bags. Plenty of people want him dead."
Orange shook her head, stripping off the nurse outfit.
"I'll leave that one for Yamato. And honestly… killing them like this feels too cheap. The principals, deans, directors of the Institute—I'll save them. I want to think of something truly satisfying."
She looked up, catching Li Pan staring at her body.
"What? You want to?"
The tight uniform clung to her sweat-slicked waist, hormones thick in the air. Li Pan swallowed hard.
"You've had a long day…"
Orange was simpler—she just flipped onto him. After all she'd been through lately, she was done holding back.
In this world, you kill when you want, screw when you want. Quick vengeance, free passion.
Thankfully, Li Pan had anticipated this and set the Emperor-620's autopilot. Forethought pays.
So—car sex, all the way. He dropped Orange back at her apartment.
She'd vented herself empty, and finally slept content. But Li Pan couldn't stay. He still had a small goal to chase.
Time to crunch some numbers.
His account balance after this kidnapping job: payment came from Panlong Construction's account. Minus the 10,000 he'd lent Nana, his personal account now held 1.01 million from underworld kills. Next repayment date: 8,000, with 300,000 total debt. Manageable.
Aside from Monster Company's 2,500 salary, he could pay himself a manager's wage from Panlong Construction. But since it was just a shell company, and legit salaries meant taxes, he opted for the same setup as Orange: a taxable base of 20,000, 10% tax, 18,000 net. That way his personal account baseline would steadily rise, avoiding flags for sudden inflows.
Panlong's company account, meanwhile, was 10 million in debt with heavy expenses. No stable income until Project "Taisui" was finalized, 0113 released the funds, and the Secret Party Bank began the monthly 720,000 fund transfers for three years.
Elsewhere, K still owed 6.3 million, No.18's black funds had 18 million unlaundered, plus assorted assets.
So if he ignored the debts, his current money-making pace wasn't bad. Reaching a "small goal" in two months was tough, but maybe doable.
Especially since Taisui was so valuable. And if things like "Handkerchief," "Wakizashi," and "Ghost Tower" could be monetized, why not? Monster Company clearly bought fleets with pocket change.
And the real prize: Amakusa's offer was just too good. For 130 million, he could buy a real military stealth recon ship. Then the missions would really pay.
These days, nothing beat trans-dimensional trade. Street fights and mob wars couldn't compare to smuggling exotic goods across worlds. Even renting the ship out to a logistics firm was guaranteed profit—as long as pirates didn't blow it up.
The real question: how to make a hundred million?
Lost in thought, Li Pan fingered the cyber-eyes in his pocket, plugged them into the Emperor's onboard chip, and projected their cached video.
Corporate cadres often had hidden recording functions—not just for espionage, but to document contracts, faces, evidence.
The footage confirmed it: Ian Campbell had secretly met with East Castle Society's young master, Yagyū Inujirō, at a nightclub. Unfortunately, only the entry footage was intact—everything inside the private room was encrypted. These old dogs were careful. Easy to kill, hard to crack.
But Li Pan noticed a detail: in the hovercar, Campbell had used an off-world black-fund account to bet on underground cage fights. He wagered 3 million on a fighter named "Leticia's Hound."
Li Pan now had the transaction code for that bet.
He didn't know if the Hound would win, but by pulling out before the fight, he could still surrender for half—netting 1.5 million.
It would still be dirty money, with laundering losses, but hey—meat off a mosquito's leg is still meat.
The catch: he'd need a guarantor and an insider account with the fight house.
So he packaged the data for No.18 to crack, then called Old Wu at Peace Hotel.
"Hey, Uncle Wu, any underground fights tonight?"
"Well, well. Broom-Head, you? With your half-baked skills? Planning to fight? Bankrupt already?"
"Ha! Don't underestimate me. I'm rich now—tens of millions, easy. Deadpool lotto's beneath me these days. I want in on the big leagues. Got fights? Place me some bets!"
"You brat… fine. There's a fight tonight. Same rules—20,000 intro fee in cash. Bets with black money, minimum 100,000. Put down a million and I'll give you the address, ringside seats, and some hot fighters to watch."
"OJBK! Two grand transferred!"
Wu worked fast, got him an account.
Li Pan had planned to surrender the bet for 1.5 million. But then he noticed one of the hot picks: "Leticia's Hound."
And he knew her.
That braided-pigtail maid girl.
Now she wore her hair loose, dyed deep blue, eyes to match, clad in tight leather and jeans. Tall, lean, pale skin, legs unforgettable.
Her highlight reel showed vicious side-kicks, snapping whips mid-strike, folding opponents into zigzags in three rounds. Solid Level-5.
"Leticia's Hound," huh? Definitely a real werewolf. Hell, just those legs were worth a million.
Li Pan's interest flared. He told No.18 to carve out a million for tickets. Tonight, he'd meet this little she-wolf in person.
.
.
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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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