There are too many non-believers in cyberpunk – Chapter 2

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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Simzy
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Wah. Wah.

A rainy night.

The cries of a baby echoed from a basket left at the orphanage door.

A nun, sighing at the sound, brought the child inside.

At this orphanage, located right next to a brothel, finding a newborn baby in a basket at the door wasn’t a rare occurrence.

The nun placed the newborn in an incubator donated by a doctor who had grown up in the orphanage, and as always, prayed that the baby would thrive despite the limited resources.

One hundred days.

For babies brought to the orphanage in this way, survival was usually determined within the first hundred days.

This child successfully passed that 100-day mark.

Relieved, the nun finally named the baby.

Amon.

It meant “love.”

True to his name, Amon grew up healthy under the nun’s love.

And on the 200th day.

“Ah mm… Ah-mm…”

“Yes. Mama. Try it. Mama.”

The nuns surrounded Amon, clapping as he began to form words.

Although not their biological children, the moment a foundling called them “Mama” for the first time was one of the few joyous moments that compensated for the hardships of orphanage life.

Amon continued to mumble words containing ‘m’ and ‘a’.

“Ah-mn”

When he uttered this sound, the nuns burst into laughter.

He said his own name before saying “Mama.”

They were sure this child was destined for greatness.

But the next complete word from Amon’s mouth… was far beyond their expectations.

“Amen.”

“???”

Truly, the first words of a child destined for greatness.

“Hmm. Looking handsome again today…”

The boy murmured, looking in the mirror.

In the mirror, a boy with slightly curly black hair, thick eyebrows, and attractive features met Amon’s gaze.

Opinions might differ on the impression given by his slightly downturned eyes, but no one could deny they were a charming feature.

Amon was pleased with his appearance again today.

Even without makeup or special care, he thought he could pass for an actor.

He was confident about that.

After all, he had meticulously crafted this appearance using all available resources.

‘Phew. Thank goodness. Thank you so much, Goddess.’

Every time he looked in the mirror, Amon’s faith in the goddess grew stronger.

Of course, he was grateful that she had given him a second chance and whispered kind words to build his self-esteem.

But nothing had strengthened his faith as much as realizing he had been born with this specific appearance.

When he turned three, and his hair grew out enough to reveal the contours of his face, Amon offered a prayer of gratitude to the goddess.

He even donated half of the allowance he had received at the orphanage.

Looking in the mirror, Amon recalled the appearances he could have had.

Prostate Dest- expert.
Naka-shi Above
Magical Girl Pretty Afro

‘Oh, Lord.’

If he had been reborn with those appearances, he would have seriously considered resetting his life from the age of three.

Amon’s current appearance was that of the character he used when he wanted to immerse himself in the game’s story.

The one he used for uncovering Easter eggs, hidden backstories, achieving the true ending, or pursuing the perfect happy ending.

He had grown fond of his other character designs, using them for speedruns and concept playthroughs, but being reborn with those appearances was a different story altogether.

Fortunately, the goddess understood the human heart.

She had granted him the appearance he desired most.

‘I’ll make sure to tithe diligently this weekend too.’

Amon was currently 15 years old.

He had no job, and his only income was his allowance and the money he earned from running errands, but he diligently tithed from that meager amount.

Even when tithing became tedious, washing his face and looking in the mirror in the morning renewed his faith, ensuring he never missed a payment.

Of course, he was well aware that in this punk world, his tithe went not to the goddess but to the potbelly of a fat priest.

But that didn’t matter.

It was the thought that counted.

No matter how much this bleak society, which dismissed love and religion as nonsense, tried to discourage him, his faith wasn’t so fragile as to crumble under that pressure.

Enough about his appearance.

He finished washing his face and came out of the bathroom.

His friends were lined up at the door, waiting for their turn.

“Good morning, everyone!”

The responses to Amon’s morning greeting were largely divided into two categories:

“Good morning, Amon.”

“…Tch.”

The former were his close friends, the latter those who found him annoying.

Initially, the latter had been the overwhelming majority, but after more than ten years of persistent greetings, most of them now responded in kind.

After washing up, breakfast awaited Amon.

Today’s meal was meat.

And it would be meat tomorrow as well.

Technology had advanced, and human dignity had gone to hell, but progress wasn’t all bad.

At least the orphanage’s meager budget could secure enough meat to fill the children’s bellies.

Ironically, in the punk world’s America, meat was cheaper than vegetables.

The difference varied from country to country, but at least in the America where Amon lived, the money for one serving of vegetables could buy six servings of meat.

Thanks to this, the orphanage’s meals consisted of a much higher proportion of meat than vegetables.

Amon cut today’s menu item, a synthetic meat patty, in half and put it in his mouth.

It tasted roughly like a hamburger beef patty.

However, to Amon, who had tasted real beef patties in his previous life, it felt slightly off.

The aroma, the fattiness, the texture…

It replicated beef as much as possible, but it wasn’t quite the same.

Amon swallowed the synthetic meat and gave the other half to the girl sitting next to him.

“Huh? Aren’t you going to eat?”

The girl looked at Amon quizzically.

The girl with silvery-blue hair tied back glanced back and forth between Amon and the meat.

Her name was Sonia Parfumrose.

She was a girl who had been abandoned… or rather, entrusted to the orphanage a month before Amon.

Amon replied with an ambiguous smile,

“You know I can’t eat a lot of meat.”

“Because of the smell?”

“Yeah.”

Sonia pitied her childhood friend, who couldn’t eat much meat because of its smell, and heartily ate the meat in his stead.

Gulp

As the meat traveled down her esophagus, her ample chest briefly expanded and contracted.

Amon averted his gaze.

Even though the world was crazy, Amon had normal sensibilities.

He didn’t harbor any untoward feelings for a 15-year-old girl.

Instead, seeing her finish his portion along with her own, he only felt sorry for her.

‘I’m sorry.’

The reason he couldn’t eat much synthetic meat wasn’t because of the smell.

On the contrary, the Amon of his past life had loved meat so much that it felt like pork fat and soju flowed through his veins instead of blood.

But after coming to this world, whenever he faced synthetic meat, the memory of its production process made it difficult for him to eat much.

‘How can anyone eat that?’

Insects, especially larvae and beetles, had remarkably high reproductive rates.

Even surpassing cows and pigs.

In a world where efficiency and profit took precedence over all other values, synthetic meat made from insects wasn’t a particularly strange foodstuff.

In a world that had thrown human rights to the dogs, what was the big deal about insect meat?

Therefore, people born and raised in this world ate synthetic meat without a second thought, even knowing its insect origins.

Sonia knew and still ate it just fine.

But not him.

If he hadn’t known how it was made, he might have been able to eat it to some extent, as the process wouldn’t be playing out in his mind.

But he did know.

He could picture it vividly.

There was a side quest in the game involving infiltrating a synthetic meat factory, where the process of preparing larvae and insects was shown.

And thanks to his good computer specs, he had seen it in vivid 4K detail.

That scene had traumatized Amon to the point where he couldn’t eat hamburgers for weeks.

If it was that bad just seeing it on a screen, how could he stomach it on his plate?

Amon considered it a feat that he wasn’t vomiting right now.

Since he was still growing, he at least ate the minimum amount of protein necessary for his development.

‘It’s not unhealthy.’

Surprisingly, in terms of health alone, synthetic meat was better for the body than beef.

Insects weren’t fed antibiotics or hormones.

Moreover, contrary to what one might expect in the punk world, hygiene in food factories was strictly managed, making it healthy.

Healthy…

Amon once again offered silent thanks to his childhood friend, who ate the insect meat… or rather, the synthetic meat, in his place.

After breakfast, Amon’s next task was to go out.

He left the orphanage hand-in-hand with his childhood friend, Sonia.

School?

That was a luxury for orphans.

The place Amon was headed was in the opposite direction of school.

Not a place to learn, but a place to put learning into practice.

The two headed towards a rickety building with a sign that read ‘Johnson’s Mercenary Agency’.

As was often the case with mercenary work, it wasn’t a respectable profession, so they headed down to the basement.

Opening the door, they were greeted by a bar filled with the strong smell of alcohol.

Passing by mercenaries clanking their mechanical arms, Amon went straight to the front desk.

He saw the bartender wiping glasses behind the counter.

The bartender was an elderly man with a striking goatee and goat horns.

Amon addressed the goat-like bartender.

“Grandpa Johnson. Got any hot jobs for us?”

“Young man, someone might misunderstand you if they heard that.”

The elderly man admonished Amon in alarm.

As if echoing his feelings, his right prosthetic eye repeatedly contracted and expanded with a mechanical whirring sound.

No matter how messed up the world was, they didn’t give minors guns and send them to work.

At least, not openly.

“If you say it like that, I’ll get arrested. You have to call them errands.”

This old man, called Johnson, was the owner of a legitimate mercenary agency and didn’t give mercenary work to minors.

The errands Johnson mentioned weren’t euphemisms; they were actual errands.

Amon nodded and corrected himself.

“Yes. Do you have any errands for us?”

“Alright. Sonia’s with you today, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll give you something suitable.”

The old man waved kindly to Sonia beside Amon and wrote down a list of errands for them.

The errands were written on the back of a torn contract.

The personal information of the unknown mercenary on the front was of no interest to the old man.

The list was completed, and Amon received it.

Wilton’s Butcher Shop: One box of sausages

Dominic’s Pizza: One box of frozen pizzas
.
.
.

Tommy’s Blacksmith: A kitchen knife

The errands the old man requested mostly involved picking up ingredients for the bar.

Amon stuffed the paper into his pocket, noting the large quantity.

He checked the promised payment.

It was a ridiculously low amount compared to the hourly wage of a typical delivery person.

But Amon didn’t show his disappointment.

The reason Johnson hired orphans for deliveries was that it was cheaper than hiring delivery personnel. If Amon demanded more, he might not even get that much.

Knowing this, Amon accepted the delivery job without complaint.

Still, Johnson was relatively kind.

“The kitchen knife is a bit urgent. Sorry, but I’d appreciate it if you could deliver that first.”

“Leave it to us.”

“I’ll give you a bonus for that.”

“I won’t refuse.”

At least he was reliable when it came to bonuses for additional requests.

Amon left the agency with Sonia.

Escaping the smell of alcohol, they were greeted by acrid air.

Amon filled his lungs with the fumes and started walking.

Today, too, he lived in Punk City.

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