With a big smile, Li Pan escorted Emilia out. Only after watching the Night Clan's drone legion withdraw did he suddenly cough up a mouthful of blood.
"Ugh! Truly worthy of being a Night Knight—one kick and I'm half-crippled! Nearly lost control of my inner qi! Terrifying, utterly terrifying!"
Hunched over, he forced himself to suppress the raging demonic fire and qi rampaging inside him. Wiping his bloody nose, he bent down and slumped into the chair behind his desk.
After catching his breath, Li Pan picked up the landline and dialed "0081001."
"Hey? Hey! 0081, it's me, 0081-01!
Why is QVN still offline? Any further orders from upstairs?"
"..."
Silence on the other end. Li Pan narrowed his eyes.
"Don't tell me you forgot?"
Finally, 081's voice came through:
"…Tch. So, you want it reopened now?"
"Eh, forget it. Leave it. Three days from now, I'll call you."
By calculation, QVN—Quantum Virtual Network—had been severed from the Multiverse for three full days now, and yet, not much uproar had followed.
For megacorps like Night, for hackers who lived in the deep net, for financial institutions needing constant interstellar data, for the Security Bureau and star fleets—this was apocalyptic.
But for the average civilian here on 0791? Hardly any difference.
This wasn't some primitive border world. Takamagahara's corporate ecosystem had already established entire production chains locally. Daily life continued mostly unaffected.
Most people couldn't even afford high-grade chips, let alone connect to QVN's outer nets. They just watched bootleg short videos repackaged by bloggers on the local net. They didn't even realize anything had happened.
And there was still the local intranet, with the Security Bureau's watchtowers and the NCPA policing system. More than enough to handle thieves and street punks.
But without the QVN firewall and ICE safeguards, those local servers were like public toilets to top-tier hackers like Shiba—free to enter and leave at will.
Two or three days offline was one thing. A week, a month, a year? A different story altogether.
If 0791 remained cut off, it would drift away from the multiversal human civilization linked through QVN. Permanently severed, it would become a true barbarian world, cast into darkness. Maybe the comparison was dramatic—but once the Akainu realized this wasn't a trick, they'd seize the moment, rise in rebellion, and tear chunks out of Night's empire.
And when that happened, no matter how much the vampires drooled over Li Pan in private, in public he'd no longer get even a polite smile as "Monster Company Manager."
So—wait three days. The Night Clan could probably still hold things steady. Then he'd reopen QVN and let the tide flow.
After sending Emilia off, Li Pan spent the rest of the day listless in the office.
He finished his mission report, wrote a preliminary containment file on the "Bedsheet/UFO" and forwarded it to R&D. That marked the haunted-house mission "complete."
Then he argued with HQ. Too injured to keep bickering, he eventually gave up. Finance flat-out refused to reimburse "civilian medical bills."
And since renting the haunted house in the company's name would make it company property, Nana couldn't get a residence permit. So, the whole mission boiled down to: one cursed bedsheet, two lost keys, one girl, twenty thousand in cash, a thousand per month in loans, and a heap of internal injuries.
All for a single silver key.
Total loss.
Li Pan's heart ached. He sighed, ordered A-7 to "keep beating the bedsheet, don't stop," then clocked out.
He didn't dare return to the new apartment in the commuter district. He still didn't understand the haunted house's mechanics.
If he slipped again into that swamp-world, he might need another silver key to return—or worse, get eaten by a Mach 5 bedsheet. Too damn risky.
Better to heal first. The pain was unbearable; he had no strength for anything else.
So he hitched a ride back to his old apartment, showered, and sat on the couch to cultivate Nine Yin Body Refinement.
He had already been alternating between meditating and writing reports during the day, slowly healing his internal injuries.
The effect was minimal.
That green-robed phantom had said "dual cultivation is heresy." But damn, shortcuts felt good.
Alone, Li Pan could grind away all day for crumbs of progress. Probably take months. With dual cultivation? One day and night, and he'd be healed.
Maybe… he should find someone and take the shortcut?
He glanced at his contacts and sent: "Wanna grab a drink?" to K, Orange, and Masako.
No replies.
Fine. A quiet night.
He dreamed again—soaring through the skies, gazing at the moon, gliding above the sea of clouds and stars.
Truth be told, it was stress relief. If he recorded it into a DreamSim, he could sell it for a million.
When he woke, he felt much better. The chaotic flows in his body had calmed, no longer tearing at his lungs. His wounds were stabilizing.
He realized: daytime meditation was inefficient. Either find a dual cultivation partner, or wait for night, enter deep sleep, and leverage the Candle Yin God-body in that otherworld to refine faster.
Still, the Nine Yin method worked even here. By refining the monster's energy, he could assimilate it. If he consumed all residual energies and fully mastered the scripture, perhaps "cyber-ascension" wasn't impossible.
The next morning, Li Pan left for work. Putting on his AR glasses, he realized a major incident had shaken the city overnight.
"NCPA spokesperson announced that last night's major criminal case in the central district was not terrorism, nor linked to the Akainu. The suspect, a former private security contractor, suffered cyberpsychosis due to illegal components and long-term suppressant drugs…"
"Great. Another round of Death Lottery with no winners…"
The headlines everywhere screamed:
"Massacre! Cyberpsycho! Central District Bloodbath!"
Holoscreens showed streets drenched in blood, a musclebound cyber-soldier tearing civilians into chunks.
So it had happened: a cyberpsycho rampaged in Night City's central nightlife district, prime time, packed with crowds. Four blocks destroyed. Casualties catastrophic.
Media investigations revealed he wasn't gang-affiliated. He'd been a private bodyguard, ex-military, equipped with combat-grade cyberware. In his frenzy, he butchered indiscriminately. Two entire NCPA squads—forty to fifty officers—slaughtered. Civilian remains still being counted.
Worse, he had anti-hacker cranial mods and neural acceleration. Cameras couldn't track him. He was a true Level 5 biowarrior—no, a beast.
Videos showed him butchering civilians still immersed in VR illusions, their bodies shredded before they knew they were dying. Others were smashed apart by bare hands—skulls cracked, limbs torn. Some corpses looked like abstract sculptures.
He exhausted his ammo, ripped apart a hundred more by hand, wiped out NCPA reinforcements, before finally being stopped. Cerberus arrived, sniped his leg, and swarmed him with soldiers in equal-grade cyberware, hacking him into pieces.
NCPA insisted it was "just psychosis." But impossible.
Cyberpsychos happened, but always suppressed quickly in slums or outskirts. Never in the central district.
Because normally, any deviation spike would trigger Public Safety's alarms. Security hackers could instantly jack into the psycho's systems and disable him remotely.
But not this time. QVN was offline.
No alarms, no counter-hacking, no suppression drones, no guided weapons. Nothing.
Unless… someone deliberately jammed it. Local NCPA systems were outmatched in electronic warfare.
Result: a total rout for NCPA. Night and the Security Bureau stayed silent, leaving Cerberus to clean up. Officially, just another "criminal case."
But Li Pan knew: this was a probe.
Someone—or some faction—testing whether QVN was truly cut off.
And now they had their answer.
The safety net was gone.
Which meant the real storm was coming.
Li Pan immediately upped his Death Lottery bets: "New Record Death Toll," "Mass Slaughter," "Five-Star Citywide Alert."
Three tickets. Three hundred credits. Maybe he'd hit big.
At the warehouse, he checked in.
"How's it looking?"
A-7: "Morning, Manager. No changes in the target."
The cold-storage room reeked of smoke. Shells littered the floor. Chainsaws, lasers, flamethrowers, bats—all had been used.
The "bedsheet" was tattered into a heap in the corner, dirt spilled everywhere. Yet the fabric itself remained pristine.
Clearly, a dangerous monster.
"Good work. String it up again. Try Level 5 ammo this time."
Expenses were on the company tab anyway.
He called around. Kotarō was still in Kiyosu, trying to reach Akechi. Information lockdown remained. The public still didn't know the Oda clan was dead. Security was airtight. No way in yet.
Shiba was preparing the "Canister Machine."
Li Pan visited Warehouse 7. The place, once wrecked by the Vortex gang, had been overhauled. Shiba turned it into a fortress—electric grids, turrets, drones, even hired CSI security.
"This is way too flashy. What if the Tax Bureau checks?"
He stared at the massive installation underground.
Shiba grinned. "It's not a warehouse anymore. It's a civilian nuclear plant. I installed a reactor. Independent power. Never fear a pulled plug again!"
Li Pan: "...Fine."
The company really was generous. Even gave them CSI guards. Maybe being a corporate dog wasn't so bad.
He gathered Shiba and Rama.
"QVN will be back online in three days. Until then, the city might erupt. Don't come to the office. Stay here under the guise of equipment testing.
Rama, your formal suit is ready. Use your key, wear it, sleep, and contract with your Guardian ASAP."
"Yes, Manager."
Shiba added: "I saw the news. Forums are buzzing. Lots of groups recruiting freelance hackers. Looks like war's coming. I might join in once I'm online.
But Manager, update your terminal. That CSI visor you use is a disposable anti-jam device, outdated by a generation. Against real hackers, it's unsafe. At least get a proper neural implant."
"…Fine, Shiba. I'll consider it."
He knew he had no choice. Cash was low—160,000—but without a chip, he'd be naked in the coming storm.
So he bit the bullet, visited HT Cyberware, and bought the Fuxi-15, a Level 5 implant designed for corporate drones, 128,888 credits. Bundle deal: an ICE Interceptor, a subdermal firewall, 28,888 credits.
Outdated, yes. But with Shiba's Big Snake as backup, enough to hold against most puppet hacks.
With Nine Yin strengthening his body, Li Pan now felt confident. With proper cyber defense and a few monsters at hand, he wouldn't fear a Level 5 soldier—gunfight or blade fight.
"Welcome to ChaosTech Support. I am your AI assistant, Fuxi. You are now linked to the Public Safety System.
Citizen Li Pan, balance: 2,011.32. Loans due: 8,291.43. Total debt: 30X,XXX.XX.
Your next repayment is due on the 15th. Please maintain sufficient balance.
Your deviation value: normal. Thank you for using Public Safety. Have a pleasant day."
Ah~~ my million… just a dream… it's all gone~~ oh oh~~
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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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