Chapter 86

Dense clouds smothered the city's brilliant lights, accompanied by howling winds and occasional thunderous booms, like an invisible hand calmly playing the Piano Sonata No. 2 in B-flat minor upon the world.

It was his favorite melody.

Perhaps due to recent overwork and excessive stress, he always enjoyed listening to his preferred music after work, engaging in activities that relieved his tension.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The sharp blade pierced soft flesh and struck the cutting board, producing a rhythmic sound.

"Didn't expect the chef at this restaurant to be quite skilled…"

Mu Lin stubbornly insisted on sitting right next to Haiji.

Now, he leaned forward, whispering softly into her ear.

"Expensive doesn't mean authentic…" Haiji rolled her eyes at him, reached out, and shoved his annoying head aside with force.

"Hohoho, judging by how much you know, you must be a regular here. No wonder you dragged me along… I get it, I get it… You only share your treasures with the closest people…"

To Haiji, her colleague Mu Lin was an outright scoundrel and bastard.

Right now, the smug, self-satisfied expression on his face was utterly revolting.

"Say less, or my fists are already itching." Haiji stroked her smooth, jade-like fingers, her clenched fist resembling perfect jade—seemingly harmless, utterly non-threatening.

Mu Lin shrank his neck in fear, looking like a turtle retreating into its shell.

He had seen this violent woman crush a man's skull with her bare hands in an alley.

The Japanese chef opposite them, however, remained perpetually smiling, diligently working on the fresh, natural, non-synthetic fish flesh before him.

It must be because he doesn't understand English!

Mu Lin muttered inwardly, then turned to survey the restaurant's interior.

Haiji was glad the nuisance beside her stopped bothering her, letting him amuse himself.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

He swung his arm, extending its razor-sharp blades, letting the nameless, pitiful victim be dismembered into chunks, finally reduced to a viscous pile of flesh and blood.

The first raindrop fell crisply to the ground, like the first toll of a funeral bell.

A thick black hood concealed his face, obscuring his expression.

Rainwater slowly gathered into streams, trickling down the dense folds of the hood.

His heavy boots crushed through murky blood, trampled over rotting bone and flesh, as he walked slowly, vanishing into the wind and rain.

The hunt was not over—he would continue forward.

Only when the man had gone far did the wind carry fragments of the poem he had been murmuring.

"This is the end…"

"Haiji, do you have any favorite literary works?"

"Why out of nowhere?" Haiji glanced at Mu Lin curiously, chewing on the white fish served as an appetizer.

"Don't judge me by this human-looking exterior—I'm a highly educated professional…"

Mu Lin puffed out his chest and patted it proudly.

Without his work uniform, he looked nothing like a Net Watch Agent.

Unlike Level Two to Four Cybernetic Implants, which featured obvious, flamboyant external modifications,

the Level Five Cybernetic Implant used by Net Watch Agents appeared utterly ordinary, almost resembling the most basic Level One Cybernetic Implant—the Personal Connection Line—with nearly no visible signs of modification.

Yet its performance was undeniably powerful: it could briefly connect remotely to Cyberspace without any external device, transforming the user into the God of the Net, capable of commanding torrents of data with a mere gesture.

The only cost was periodic injections of Neural Agent, which carried minor side effects.

"Hey! Haiji, are you even listening?"

"Huh?"

Haiji snapped back from a flood of professional data.

"Can you stop avoiding my conversations like this?" Mu Lin sighed, pointing at his head. "Am I some kind of learning machine? Do you automatically enter 'work mode' the moment I speak?"

"Blame yourself for being so boring, Mu Lin!" Haiji stuck out her tongue at him, her tone dripping with disdain.

"Whatever…" Mu Lin sighed.

He couldn't argue with her, and he couldn't fight her—he had no choice but to surrender.

The Japanese chef continued diligently preparing dishes, placing each exquisite plate before the quarreling pair.

"Try this! Sturgeon Roe with vinegar!"

The lesson lasted less than three seconds—Mu Lin had barely swallowed a bite before he eagerly picked up his plate and turned again to bother Haiji.

Haiji propped her chin, expressionless, staring at his obsequious grin, silently giving him the middle finger.

Mu Lin could only sheepishly smile and return the plate to his own table.

Watching the man's ridiculous, comical behavior, Haiji shook her head slightly, then turned to carefully pick up crab meat from her bowl, evenly coating it with the sedimented Crab Roe at the bottom, before slowly swallowing it whole.

"Mmm…" The subtly sweet flavor, paired with tender, juicy yet firm crab meat, was irresistible.

"Why do you like Crab Roe so much?" Mu Lin leaned over, peering into Haiji's bowl, curious.

"Say one more word and I'll crush your dog's head!"

As if sensing the disgusting words about to spill from his mouth, Haiji frowned and glared fiercely at Mu Lin.

She had witnessed it once before, on their first group dinner.

At a Chinese restaurant, she had just ordered stir-fried intestines when the idiot had already tilted his head, swaying back and forth, describing the contents inside the intestines.

"Yes, yes…" Mu Lin bowed his head, clearly recalling his past mistake and the brutal punishment he'd received.

"Boss, pack me a few sushi rolls to go…" Haiji said in Japanese to the chef, utterly unconcerned by Mu Lin's startled stare.

If she remembered correctly, someone else should be hungry right now.

As for restaurant rules or other people's strange glances?

She had never cared since birth.

◎

Isaac lay sprawled across an old magazine, repeatedly chewing on a piece of tempura that had turned dry and cold in his mouth.

So delicious...

He murmured to himself, reluctant to swallow that precious flavor.

"Thud... thud... thud!"

Heavy footsteps, accompanied by the sound of rain, drew closer bit by bit.

Isaac sat up alertly, thoroughly swallowing the food remnants in his mouth.

Although this place was usually deserted, in Night City, anything could happen.

Isaac reached his hand into his pocket.

An old Dynamite Pistol obediently pressed against his sweat-dampened palm.

"Who... who are you?" Isaac shouted nervously into the unfathomable darkness.

Yet no one answered.

There was only step after step, piercing through the vast sound of the rain, roaring like a giant drum, striking again and again against Isaac's trembling heart.

"Who the hell are you? Speak! Or I'll shoot!"

He cursed and shouted in vain, as helpless as a fish on a chopping block.