[The System does not 'scheme' against the Host,] the mechanical voice echoed in Aoyama's mind, colder and more detached than usual. [The System merely designs the optimal path for the Host to fulfill the Great Objective and distributes tasks and rewards accordingly.]
Aoyama toyed with a stylus, spinning it between his fingers. He stared out the window at the setting sun, its orange light bathing his studio in long, distorted shadows.
"So... what's the point of you anyway?" he asked, his eyes narrowing. "You appeared in my life, you're pushing me toward these goals... what's in it for you? What do you get out of this?"
He'd been curious for a long time. Was the system a cosmic observer? A parasite? Or something else entirely?
[The System gains nothing,] the voice replied, its cadence flat and uninflected. [The primary directive of my core logic is to ensure the Host completes a series of objectives as efficiently as possible without causing physical or psychological harm to the Host.]
"Just... logic?" Aoyama sighed, leaning back into the worn fabric of his chair. "So you're just a highly advanced piece of software following a script."
He felt a strange pang of sympathy for the thing. To be an artificial intelligence, bound to a Host who was as lazy and aimless as he was... it was almost a tragedy. If the system had a soul, it probably would have spent half its time screaming in frustration at his lack of ambition.
But the system was clearly getting desperate.
He looked at his task list. The 'Reputation' quests were moving along at a steady clip, currently sitting somewhere around Stage Six. But the 'Impression' mission, the one that required a hundred people to have a deep, lasting memory of his name, had been stalled at 14/100 for weeks.
Edgerunners was popular, but it hadn't yet achieved the kind of cultural saturation where the author's name became a household brand. Aoyama was still just a shadow behind the ink.
"So, old-timer," Aoyama said, his voice dropping to a low, serious tone. "What's the end game? What is the 'Final Objective' you're so obsessed with?"
The interface flickered, static crackling across the translucent screen like heat lightning.
"The Final Objective..." the voice began, its tone suddenly distorted. "%&￥! [SYSTEM ERROR: ENCRYPTED] &% create a ninth masterwork... of the [REDACTED] genre... and achieve the acclaim of five hundred million individuals..."
"...Have your name recognized and deeply remembered by one hundred million people."
"And finally... achieve an 'A Natural Talent' status of such magnitude that your name is etched permanently into the annals of world history."
The glitchy, stuttering revelation left Aoyama stunned.
Nine masterworks? Five hundred million fans?
That was the scale of the "Big Three" shonen jumps combined. It was the kind of global dominance held by legends like Oda or Toriyama. And to be remembered by a hundred million people? To be a historical figure?
"You're asking me to become a god of manga," Aoyama whispered.
His mind raced through the possibilities. He had the hard drive of his previous life's culture. Edgerunners was just the start. He could bring out Attack on Titan for the sheer, visceral horror-action. Chainsaw Man for its surreal, modern psychological edge. Fullmetal Alchemist for its thematic perfection.
But nine long-running serializations? If he spent his life drawing nine epic-scale manga, he'd be nothing more than a pen-wielding monk, dead by the time he finished the last page.
Yet, as he stared at the glowing task list, he didn't feel the weight of the burden. Instead, he felt a spark of something he hadn't felt in either life: a genuine, cold ambition. He had the tools. He had the knowledge. And now, he had the motivation.
"Listen, old-timer," Aoyama said, a cunning, lopsided grin spreading across his face. "I'm starting to like the sound of this. But if I'm going to play along, I need a little more... cooperation."
[How can the System assist the Host?]
"You control the rewards, don't you? And you probably have some influence over how the Shop refreshes."
[The System cannot manually refresh the Shop,] it replied instantly. [However... the System can influence the output of the 'Fusion and Reinforcement' function, provided the Host's intent aligns with the target domain.]
Aoyama's eyes lit up. He'd avoided the 'Fusion' tab for months, fearing the RNG-based nightmare familiar to any veteran of Gacha games. But if the System could "shadow-manipulate" the outcome...
It was like having the keys to the lottery booth.
"Perfect," Aoyama said, his voice filled with renewed energy. "Tomorrow I'm going to that negotiation. I'm going to see what this game company is made of. I'll use my 'Game Overlord' skill to show them what a real designer looks like, and then I'll force my way into the development team."
He stood up, stretching his cramped muscles. "And when I find out exactly what tech they're missing to make the real Night City... I'll come back to you for a Diamond-tier upgrade. I won't let them turn my work into a buggy disaster."
Pochita barked in the background, lunging at a discarded slipper as if it were a high-ranking corporate executive.
"Exactly, buddy," Aoyama laughed. "Time to show them what a real 'shachiku' can do when he's the one in charge."
[Translated and Rewritten by Shika_Kagura]