After chatting with Maine for a while, Lin Mo began to feel that their conversation was getting a bit dull. Two grown men sitting around tal
After chatting with Maine for a while, Lin Mo began to feel that their conversation was getting a bit dull. Two grown men sitting around talking while he ate oden—it didn't exactly make for riveting company.
Eventually, Maine couldn't help himself either. He stood up and went over to the food stall to order a serving of oden for himself.
"This Japanese street food… is it actually good?" Maine asked skeptically, eyeing the steaming broth.
"It's alright, I guess. Just synthetic ingredients, but it fills you up. That's good enough," Lin Mo said, finishing off the last bits of his oden. The flavor wasn't anything special, but he didn't let food go to waste.
These synthetic ingredients—mass-produced by full-automation food plants—weren't exactly gourmet. But Lin Mo had to admit, the tech behind synthetic food had come far enough to almost pass for the real thing.
The only issue was that it just didn't taste very good.
"Yeah, I guess someone like you, a rich kid, probably never had to worry about eating fresh, tasty food. Got any stories to tell? Enlighten me a little," Maine said while poking at a fish ball in his plastic tray.
Lin Mo set the empty box aside for later disposal. "Sure, but you sure you want to hear it? Might leave you feeling bitter."
Maine scoffed and slurped a mouthful of noodles, his expression full of weary indifference, like someone who'd long since made peace with a cruel world.
"In this fucked-up city? There's no such thing as fairness. Go on, little gold master. Maybe one day I'll get to live that kind of life—eating good, dressing better."
"Alright then. Here's one example. For one of my birthdays, I had a cake made with real honey—like, actual honey from a hive," Lin Mo said matter-of-factly.
Maine's eyes widened. "Real honey? Shit, how much did that run you?"
"150,000 eddies. And that was for just a small amount of pretty mediocre-quality honey. The real premium stuff? That gets auctioned off—no fixed price."
Stretching a little from post-meal drowsiness, Lin Mo felt the cool night breeze brushing his face and clearing his head.
"I read in a tabloid once that rare organic foods like that usually go for no less than 200,000 eddies at auction. Wild, right?"
Maine grunted, his tone bitter. "What's so wild about that? Sounds about right."
Lin Mo rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped, eyes lowered. After a moment, he said, "Honestly? Yeah. It's normal. But it shouldn't be."
Maine didn't comment. After all, Lin Mo was part of the privileged class—his monthly allowance alone could probably cover an entire gig for Maine's team. A rich kid reflecting on injustice? Just one of those idle thoughts.
They didn't dig any deeper into the topic. Their conversation drifted until a small interruption brought it to a halt.
From the back of the restaurant, a hunched elderly woman slowly emerged, carrying a bag. She shuffled toward them, clearly straining with each step.
Lin Mo watched in silence as the old woman handed the bag to Maine like they were making some kind of underground deal—one hand giving cash, the other handing off the goods.
As she turned to leave, Maine glanced at Lin Mo's curious look and smirked, holding up the bag.
"Want to guess what this is?"
"I don't need to guess. This restaurant's probably a hidden black market. No way all these edge-runners are here just for the food," Lin Mo said with a confident smile.
"Correct."
Maine opened the bag, revealing rows of small vials—clear glass containers filled with liquid.
Immunosuppressants.
Lin Mo recognized them immediately.
"Yep. Real valuable stuff. Not the kind of thing you find on store shelves. Let me clue you in: this place is a trade hub. If you need something, tell the boss—he's got the connections to hook you up," Maine explained.
Lin Mo's eyes practically sparkled.
If anything had kept him from spending money, it was the lack of connections and access. A fixer who could get you anything for the right price? He was all in.
"Could he get cyberware modules? Like a Sandevistan cooling sink? Or maybe one of Arasaka's aramid-polycarbonate combat suits? Hell, if he can score military-grade vehicles like a Basilisk, I'd be thrilled!"
His eyes gleamed with excitement.
Maine's grin froze. His face turned serious as he stared at Lin Mo like he was nuts.
After a long silence, he coughed awkwardly and said, "Little gold master, do you think someone with access to that kind of hardware would be running a hole-in-the-wall diner?"
"I figured as much. Still worth asking," Lin Mo replied with a sigh of disappointment.
"Don't get your hopes up. The boss here can get weapons, ammo, maybe some meds. If it's cyberware you're after, though, I can point you to someone."
Maine pulled out one of the vials, slotted it into a pneumatic injector, and jabbed it into his arm.
As the fluid entered his system, Maine visibly relaxed, his face melting into a look of relief.
Lin Mo observed calmly. He was familiar with the sensation. Since his DNA had been matched, his bio-components no longer triggered immune rejection. But his two mechanical implants—Sandevistan and Kerenzikov—were another story.
Unlike bioware, mechanical cyberware needed time for the body to adapt. Until then, rejection symptoms were inevitable.
Immunosuppressants suppressed those reactions, replacing pain with a ticklish, almost euphoric itch. Maine's dramatic reaction wasn't surprising.
Still…
Lin Mo studied the look of bliss on Maine's face and couldn't shake the sense of unease.
To be that relieved… Maine's body was probably past the danger threshold for implant load.
After a while, Maine came down from the high and turned to Lin Mo. "Where were we?"
"You were going to introduce someone who could get me cyberware."
"Right, right. Hang on." His eyes glinted, and he sent over a contact. "Here's her number. Call her tomorrow. I'll give her the heads-up."
Let's see who this is.
Lin Mo eagerly opened the chat interface to check the number Maine had sent over.
And immediately, his expression twisted into something complex.
You've got to be kidding me...
Isn't this David's mom's number?!
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