There Are Too Many Non-Believers In Cyberpunk – Chapter 4

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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Simzy
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After finishing dinner, which featured synthetic meat yet again, french fries emerged as a late-night snack.

The children, excited by the rare treat, eagerly devoured the fries.

“Hmm… I feel like I’m going to get fat.”

Sonia glanced back and forth between the french fries and her belly, a conflicted expression on her face.

To Amon, her words sounded like an endearing complaint.

Growing children can eat as much as they want.

That was Amon’s belief.

Besides, with Sonia’s constitution, she didn’t need to worry about gaining weight from this much.

Her belly fat tended to accumulate a little higher…

‘That’s enough.’

Amon reined in his straying thoughts.

He added more fries to Sonia’s plate and grabbed a handful for himself.

The fries were made from real potatoes.

They might have undergone some genetic modification, but at least to Amon’s knowledge, there were no side effects.

Therefore, french fries were one of the few foods in this world he could eat without worry.

“Munch, munch.”

Sonia nibbled on a couple of fries, then, setting aside her worries about weight gain, began to eat with gusto.

Although it cost him almost all the money he’d earned yesterday and today, Amon felt a sense of satisfaction.

Seeing how much the children enjoyed them, he didn’t regret spending the money one bit.

He finished his snack, meticulously sweeping up the last crumbs into his mouth.

Brush, brush.

Snack time was over, and it was time for bed.

Amon brushed his teeth at the sink, reviewing the day’s events.

‘A shooting near Howard Side. That’s the third one this week. Gangs are the same whether it’s 50 years ago or now.’

Although he was currently living a mundane life at the orphanage, he was fully aware of where he had been reincarnated.

And he also knew why he had been reincarnated.

To see and experience more in a wider world.

And if possible, to become a legend.

To use a gaming analogy, perhaps it could be understood as achieving his own true ending.

It seemed like a vague goal, but the image in his mind was concrete.

He diligently gathered information every day, preparing for the time when he would step out into the world.

What was the current era of this world, the locations, the power dynamics?

And in the current situation, which area should he delve into? And so on.

He had chosen to take on moderately paid delivery errands, not just for safety, but also to gather information.

To summarize the information he had gathered so far, he had been reincarnated in the United States.

The time setting was 50 years after the ending of Punk City 3.

Since the Punk City series was numbered chronologically, Amon was essentially experiencing Punk City 4 in real-time.

This world, 50 years after Punk City 3, had changed in many ways.

First, the dizzying neon signs remained.

To be precise, thanks to technological advancements, they weren’t neon signs but affordable LED screens, but it was essentially the same thing.

The gloomy city, money valued above human rights, and the paper-thin authority of law enforcement also remained unchanged.

However, the sky had become clearer.

This wasn’t because corporations had suddenly developed a conscience and started using eco-friendly fuels and materials, but because they had discovered a more efficient and less polluting energy source.

And the name of that renewable energy source was Entities.

There were various terms for these beings – ghosts, paranormal phenomena, cryptids, creatures, and so on – but the standard term was Entities.

Amon had gotten goosebumps all over when he learned this fact.

‘Humans really did it…’

This crazy world had actually figured out how to monetize even supernatural phenomena.

For example, if you secured a pair of endlessly walking red shoes and an infinitely descending staircase, and combined the two to power a generator…

Voilà! Infinite energy!

This was the era Amon was born into, an era where such a diabolical idea was taken for granted.

‘The genre is cyberpunk… no, wait, there’s magic and genetic engineering too, so fusion punk?’

Since they were using renewable energy, Amon briefly considered eco-punk, but quickly dismissed it. After all, exploiting paranormal phenomena and urban legends to power generators and calling it eco-friendly felt a bit… off.

Therefore, he concluded that it was a somewhat ambiguous fusion punk.

Cyberpunk as the base, with a dash of magic, a sprinkle of genetic engineering, and a pinch of urban fantasy. That was this world.

The location of his orphanage was also completely different from the setting of Punk City 3.

This was within his expectations.

The location had changed in each of the previous games, Punk City 1, 2, and 3.

However, even with the change in location, news of the previous protagonists still reached him.

The true endings of each game were always on such a large scale that they would rewrite world history, so this was only natural.

The true ending of Punk City 3 was considered canon in this world as well.

However, elements of other endings were also present here and there.

‘Perhaps it’s a blend of different endings, as long as they don’t contradict the true ending.’

For example, there was an ending that fundamentally changed the nature of gangs.

The Executioner… is real!!!

These were the words shouted by a legendary gangster 50 years ago, as he was executed by a corporation in California, the event broadcast live.

After the execution, gangs that had been staying in the area searching for his treasure began to roam across the United States.

Their reach had expanded so much that the ‘Serpent’s Children’, the gang Jimmy had recently joined, had extended their influence beyond two states, reaching even Amon’s city.

The title of the ending that ushered in the era of mega-gangs was ‘One and Only Treasure’.

Surprisingly, this wasn’t the true ending, but a normal ending.

He had also heard bits and pieces of other normal and bad endings.

In other words, this world was a fusion of multiple endings.

‘Perhaps each ending of Punk City 3 represented the lives of different individuals.’

So, Amon would pore over newspapers and history books whenever he had the chance, searching for clues about the various endings.

Which ending was canon, and which was apocryphal?

That was the information Amon was collecting.

Thanks to a decade of information gathering, this part was almost complete.

“RRRRRRRR~ Ptoo!”

Having finished defining the world and organizing its history, Amon spat out the toothpaste and thought about the weapons he possessed.

First, he had no knowledge of the future. The era he lived in hadn’t been released as a game yet.

However, he possessed a richer knowledge of the past than anyone else.

While people could only live in one timeline at a time, Amon, having lived through countless playthroughs, held information from numerous parallel worlds within his mind.

Furthermore, he knew forgotten knowledge of the past, and even the hidden secrets of the world, all in the form of game settings.

He had no doubt that this was his weapon.

However, there was one thing he regretted.

‘The skill proficiency aspect is unavoidable since this isn’t a game…’

Just in case, he had tried various methods to see if he could exploit the skill system like in the game.

He tried running in circles to increase his endurance stat, and swinging a metal pipe at a target dummy to raise his swordsmanship proficiency.

And the conclusion he reached? This was reality. Not a simulation or a game, but actual reality.

Skill exploits were impossible.

Status screens were impossible.

However, he did gain something from this process.

‘The talent system definitely exists.’

Although he couldn’t see it displayed on a screen like in the game, and he couldn’t allocate stat points at birth, he knew for certain.

The talent system existed in a way similar to the game.

Amon left the bathroom and headed to his bedroom, recalling the talent stat settings.

As was tradition in Punk City, players could allocate talent stats when creating their characters.

Talent was an important value that not only provided proficiency bonuses in specific routes or skill trees but also affected the character’s potential.

Of course, even with talents, the initial choices didn’t dictate the entire game.

By investing a lot of time or through sheer grit and discovering hidden opportunities, players could surpass their initial talent limitations and reach even greater heights.

But Amon wasn’t interested in taking the long way around when there was an easier path.

He preferred efficiency.

That was why he had spent the last ten years trying to identify his talents.

He had made a list of all the talents that had appeared in Punk City 1, 2, and 3, and systematically tested and eliminated them one by one.

One thing was certain: he had a high charm stat.

At least 40% of the people he met for the first time were kind to him.

‘That alone makes life so much easier.’

One might wonder what use charm had, but even in the game, it was a stat that needed to meet at least the minimum requirement, even if it wasn’t maxed out.

If your charm was low, all sorts of unfair misfortunes would befall you, even if you did nothing wrong.

[You seem suspicious. I’m going to pretend our agreement never happened.]

NPCs who were supposed to cooperate would suddenly become hostile.

[That’s the regular price. Go check other stores. See what they charge you. Ptoo.]

Merchants would try to rip you off at every opportunity.

[Hold it right there. Don’t come any closer. Stay there and don’t follow me.]

With a charm stat of 0, only 10% of first encounters would be polite, while 90% would draw their weapons at the mere sight of you.

There was even an event where you’d be dragged to the police station for doing absolutely nothing if your charm was negative. (And it had nothing to do with skin color.)

Especially during timed quests, being dragged to the police station could lead to quest failure and a bad ending, so it was essential to have at least the minimum charm.

However, if you weren’t interested in the story and just wanted to cause mayhem, you could intentionally set your charm low.

Or conversely, you could create a monstrous-looking character with max charm for a comedic playthrough.

‘Ah… I don’t miss you, Mr. Purple Abomination Specialist.’

If you maxed out the charm of a grotesque purple monster, everyone would fall in love with it. It was hilariously absurd to watch, so Amon always allocated maximum charm when creating bizarre characters.

Of course, charm wouldn’t work the same way in reality, and even if it did, he didn’t want to be born as a purple monster.

Anyway, he marked charm with a check.

After that, no more check marks were added to Amon’s talent list.

He had little aptitude for magic.

Nor for eloquence or persuasion, or crafting.

He crossed those areas off his list.

Hacking was still untested, so he put it on hold.

All that remained were weapons and firearms.

And the day to test those was fast approaching.

Tomorrow.

He planned to confirm his talents then.

‘I should get to sleep early today.’

He stopped thinking and pulled the covers over himself.

Falling asleep while shooting a gun would be disastrous.

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A day passed, and finally, the day Amon had been waiting for arrived.

Thanksgiving.

A day of feasting and fun, with delicious food and exciting games filling the streets!

…Or not.

With his own problems to worry about, there was no way a punk genre world would be overflowing with goodwill just because it was a holiday.

In a cyberpunk world, Thanksgiving simply meant citizens were a bit more willing to open their wallets, and corporations could exploit them while wearing a slightly more benevolent mask.

Still, it wasn’t entirely a hollow occasion.

Thanksgiving brought Black Friday sales and special events.

This was what Amon had been waiting for.

The orphanage didn’t have the funds to buy firearms or swords for the children.

Because of this, Amon hadn’t been able to test his aptitude for guns or swords.

But Thanksgiving was a different story.

He could finally experience handling guns and swords, things he normally wouldn’t be able to afford to even touch.

Shooting ranges and dojos held competitions with prizes, taking advantage of the holiday.

Even if there weren’t competitions, businesses often offered free trials during this period, knowing people’s wallets were feeling lighter.

This year, Amon had finally turned fifteen, and with the orphanage director’s permission to handle firearms, his chance to pull the trigger had arrived.

“Sharpshooter Amon, launching~”

Amon muttered to himself, leaving the orphanage in high spirits.

“Hee hee.”

Sonia followed behind him.

Amon had told her she didn’t need to follow, but Sonia insisted, saying she wanted to try it out too.

The two walked through the bustling holiday streets, heading towards the shooting range.

Bang! Bang!

Deafening gunshots rang out from the “US Constitution” shooting range.

“I’m here for the competition!!”

Amon shouted towards the owner of the gun shop amidst the noise.

The owner gestured from behind the bulletproof glass of the counter, as if he couldn’t hear.

Amon moved closer to the glass and shouted again.

“Competition!! Entry!!!!”

The gun shop owner nodded.

He handed Amon a sheet of paper with the rules.

Having already familiarized himself with the regulations, Amon skimmed the paper and tucked it into his pocket.

The rules were simple: Get the highest score within the time limit.

The targets generally moved, and the scoring system varied depending on the firearm used.

Amon rented an old pistol and a rifle and stepped onto the shooting range.

An announcement came over the speaker in his booth.

[Get ready. 3, 2, 1. Begin!]

Bang!

He pulled the trigger of the pistol.

A heavy recoil jolted his shoulder, and a sharp pain shot through his wrist.

‘Ow. That hurts more than I thought.’

In hindsight, it was only natural.

In this world, guns were meant for targets like non-humans with thicker hides than boar leather, or cyborgs with steel-plated skin.

The average caliber and propellant were on a different level compared to his previous life.

Even Amon, who prided himself on having above-average strength for his age, regardless of race, found it difficult to control the recoil completely.

His hand was numb, but he continued to pull the trigger.

After emptying the pistol, he switched to the rifle.

Since burst fire was prohibited, he calmly squeezed the trigger, thump, thump, thump, firing single shots.

Perhaps due to the recoil, his shots kept straying slightly from the target.

His final score was 1100.

Most of his shots landed in the 10-point zone, some in the 9-point zone, and the one that strayed the furthest landed in the 7-point zone.

The range manager applauded, congratulating Amon.

“You won’t starve to death, that’s for sure.”

Amon agreed.

With this level of talent, he could at least make a living as a mercenary.

As he returned the guns, Amon made a mental note about his firearms talent.

‘Guns are a no-go.’

It wasn’t bad.

But it wouldn’t take him to the top.

Amon’s goal was to achieve the true ending.

The people he would encounter were those who used neural acceleration devices as a matter of course and fired magic-tech beams that could pierce tanks.

To face such opponents, he needed to be able to hit a perfect score, even while dual-wielding rifles and firing on full auto.

Therefore, Amon judged his talent with guns to be “mediocre.”

‘Guns are on hold for now.’

He marked it with a triangle on his talent list.

Having reached a conclusion about guns, Amon waited for Sonia before moving on to the next location.

Finally, it was Sonia’s turn.

With a serious expression, she shouldered the rifle and pulled the trigger.

Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!

“???”

An unusual burst of gunfire echoed through the range.

The judge was about to disqualify Sonia for using burst fire in a single-shot competition.

However—

“This is single-fire mode.”

As if to prove her innocence, she fired another “burst” in single-fire mode.

Her fingers moved so fast they left afterimages.

Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang!

“Huh? Uh…?”

The bewildered judge asked her,

“Do you have finger implants?”

“No? I haven’t had any augmentations.”

The judge was even more perplexed to learn she was a pure human.

After careful consideration, he acknowledged her innocence.

And so, her shooting show resumed.

Sonia fired at the targets, her single shots sounding like automatic fire.

Her aim was incredibly steady.

Steady enough to balance a glass of water on the barrel.

It was as if she was in a low-budget shooting game where recoil hadn’t been implemented.

‘What the…? Does having breasts absorb recoil?’

Every single one of her bullets landed dead center in the bullseye.

At some point, everyone in the shooting range was mesmerized, watching her in stunned silence.

When she finished, her score was displayed.

3500.

Amon patted Sonia on the shoulder.

“I think your career path is pretty clear.”

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