The readers, however, didn't share David's somber reflection.
For most of them, Jimmy Kurosaki's death was a moment for celebration. After seeing the tuner attempt to drive David into a state of permanent cyberpsychosis for the sake of a high-fidelity BD, the fan forums were flooded with "Good riddance" and "May he rot in his own data-stream."
But for the more observant readers, the tuner's demise was a chilling reminder of the fundamental truth of Night City: life was the ultimate devaluation. It didn't matter if you were a gutter-punk or a legendary tuner; in the end, you were just meat and chrome waiting for a stray bullet.
A week later, Tsuruki Junsei, the mangaka known as 'ItchyMouse,' picked up the latest issue of Manga World GoGo.
Ever since Edgerunners had taken over the weekly slot, its popularity had reached critical mass. It was currently sitting comfortably at fourth or fifth place in the readers' surveys, breathing down the necks of the 'Big Three' veteran authors who had occupied the top spots for decades.
And The Spirit Sorcerer? Despite Tsuruki's desperate attempts to polish his art and tighten his pacing, he was stuck at ninth. The distance between them felt like a vast, unbridgeable canyon.
"Is this it?" Tsuruki whispered, his hands trembling as he flipped to Aoyama's latest chapter. "Was all those years of training as an assistant just for me to be a stepping stone for a freak of nature?"
He took a deep breath and opened to Chapter 21: 'The Long Road.'
The opening panel was a departure from the gritty urban sprawl. It was a wide, cinematic shot of a sun-bleached desert under a cloudless sky. The only sound was the crackle of a radio broadcast:
"Morning, Night City! Another day in the city of dreams, another day closer to the edge!"
The next panel showed a lean, muscular figure running across the waste, sweat dripping from his brow. His movements were fluid, organic. He looked... human.
Is that... Maine? Tsuruki wondered.
Maine was arguably the most popular secondary character in the series, a fan-favorite 'Aniki' whose popularity rivaled even the protagonists. Even the explosive, chaotic Rebecca couldn't quite top the raw, brotherly charisma of the crew's leader.
"Work's calling! Don't let the traffic keep you from your destiny!" the radio announcer continued. "Some people spend their whole lives dreaming of being the next Weyland 'Boa Boa,' but most of them just end up as a stain on the asphalt."
The flashback Maine stopped, his chest heaving as he stared at the distant, shimmering skyline of the city. The shadows on his face suggested a deep, existential exhaustion.
"Want to know where the legends play? The answer is... the cemetery."
The radio chatter faded into static.
"Maine."
The scene snapped back to the present. The vast desert was replaced by the dim, cluttered interior of their hideout. Dorio was standing over him, her expression one of quiet, nagging concern.
"You haven't eaten," she said, holding out a foil-wrapped fast-food container.
Maine looked up, his face hidden behind his signature red goggles. He reached out to take the meal, but his hand, his massive, hydraulic-driven metallic fist, was shaking. It wasn't a tremor; it was a rhythmic, violent twitch that he couldn't seem to stop.
He tried to steady it, his brow furrowing with effort, but when his fingers touched the container, they spasmed. The meal fell to the floor, the synthetic beef and gray gravy splattering across the concrete.
Dorio knelt beside him, her hand hovering near his shoulder. "Your arms are twitching again, Maine. The chrome is starting to override the nerves, isn't it?"
Tsuruki Junsei felt a cold knot of dread in his stomach. He knew the lore. He knew what "erosion" meant.
Cyberpsychosis.
"It's just a shiver! I'm fine," Maine growled, his voice a dry rasp. He reached for a pressurized cylinder of immunosuppressants and slammed it into his neck.
The settings Aoyama had established for these drugs were clear: they were like painkillers for the soul, a temporary guardrail that kept the human ego from being swallowed by the metallic nightmare of the implants. But they were a band-aid on a gaping wound.
The tremors stopped almost instantly. Maine clenched his fist, the chrome gleaming in the harsh light.
"But at this rate..." Dorio started, her voice trailing off.
"I've been doing this longer than anyone," Maine interrupted, his voice rising with a defensive, desperate edge. "I know my limits better than any ripper-doc! I'm not quitting now!"
But as he looked at Dorio, his vision flickered with a digital glitch. For a split second, her face was replaced by David's. He blinked, the phantom image vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, but the warning was undeniable.
The 'Big Brother' of Night City was starting to lose his grip on reality.
[Translated and Rewritten by Shika_Kagura]