[Quest Activated: The 9-to-5 Grind.] [Objective: Recover ¥500,000 from the 'Iron Fangs' Biker Gang.] [Reward: 15% Commission (¥75,000).]
"Silver-Tongue Debt Recovery" was a dingy little office situated above a laundromat. The boss, a sweaty man named Mr. Tanaka, chewed on an unlit cigar and looked at the scrawny teenager sitting across from his desk.
"Listen, kid," Tanaka grunted. "This isn't a paper route. The Iron Fangs are a cyber-augmented gang. They leased five heavy-duty hover-bikes and haven't made a payment in six months. The last guy I sent to collect came back with his shoes superglued to his forehead. You sure you're up for this?"
Yuto looked at the file. His eyes scanned the numbers, and a dark, familiar shadow crossed his face.
"They financed recreational vehicles at 28% APR?" Yuto whispered, his voice trembling—not with fear, but with absolute, visceral disgust. "And they missed six payments? The compound penalties alone... it's financial suicide. It's inefficient. It's wasteful."
Tanaka blinked. "Uh. Yeah. So... you want a stun baton?"
"I won't need one," Yuto stood up, taking the folder. "I'll be back in an hour."
Twenty minutes later, Yuto walked into a dusty, abandoned warehouse on the edge of Sector 4. Heavy metal music blared from a boombox. Five massive, heavily tattooed bikers with cybernetic arms were drinking cheap beer around a fire pit, their stolen, neon-lit hover-bikes parked nearby.
"Hey!" the largest biker, a brute with a metal jaw, shouted over the music. He picked up a heavy wrench. "You lost, little man? Or did Tanaka send another punching bag?"
Yuto didn't draw a weapon. He didn't even drop into a fighting stance. He just opened the manila folder and pulled out a calculator he bought at a dollar store.
"Goro 'Metal-Jaw' Sasaki," Yuto read from the file, completely ignoring the wrench. "You put zero down on a depreciating asset. You opted for the cosmetic neon-undercarriage upgrade, which added ¥40,000 to the principal. Do you have any idea how much that neon light is costing you over a 60-month term?"
The bikers exchanged confused glances. "What?" Goro grunted.
"I asked," Yuto's voice dropped an octave, the temperature in the warehouse seemingly plummeting, "if you know what you are doing to your credit score."
"I don't care about my credit score! I'll crush your skull!" Goro roared, lunging forward with the heavy steel wrench.
Three years ago, Yuto would have Vaulted the wrench. Today, he just sighed, sidestepped with the effortless agility of a guy who used to dodge literal laser beams from orbital gods, and tapped the back of Goro's cybernetic knee with his dollar-store calculator.
Goro collapsed, his heavy augments throwing him off balance.
"Your cybernetics are outdated," Yuto noted, standing over the massive gang leader. "High maintenance costs. Poor battery efficiency. You're bleeding capital, Goro. And now you're defaulting on a loan. If you don't surrender the bikes, the repo fees will be tacked onto your principal. You will be paying for these bikes until you are seventy."
Yuto leaned in closer. His eyes were completely dead, hollowed out by years of hoarding. He projected an aura of sheer, inescapable audit.
"I broke the global economy so people wouldn't have to live under the weight of predatory loans," Yuto whispered, "and you immediately go and lease a toy at twenty-eight percent interest. Give me the keys."
Goro looked into Yuto's eyes and saw a man who would meticulously track a single yen to the ends of the earth. He didn't see a fighter. He saw the IRS personified.
"O-okay! Just take them!" Goro whimpered, tossing a ring of digital fobs at Yuto. "Keep the neon lights! Just don't run my credit again!"
Yuto caught the keys. He closed the folder, his terrifying aura dissipating instantly.
"Thank you," Yuto said politely. "Remember, aggressive saving is the foundation of true freedom. Have a nice day."
As Yuto drove the five hover-bikes back to Tanaka's office—tethered together with a piece of cheap rope to save on towing fees—he did the math in his head. Seventy-five thousand yen. That covered the electric bill, the water bill, and left exactly enough for a bulk bag of premium rice.
For the first time in his life, Yuto Kurosawa was a working man. And he was going to min-max the hell out of the middle class.