Dan became a stranger in the gray city overnight.
Looking up, skyscrapers touched the clouds forming ridgelines,
While AVs (aerial vehicles) buzzed around like flies,
And acid rain would often drizzle down,
A massive city painted with colorful neon signs.
The place called Lost City.
Dan first opened his eyes at the bottom of Lost City, in Downtown.
To reference his hometown knowledge, it felt like a mix of 1980s Harlem's public safety with Hong Kong's Kowloon Walled City's visuals from around that time.
A true lawless zone.
For Dan, who was born and raised in Korean where gun control was the strictest in the world, everything was overwhelming.
In fact, Dan was shot three times on his first day wandering the streets.
Shoulder, chest, and abdomen. Three shots.
The only reason he didn't die was purely because of his sturdy body.
A nomad with a life path that applied a 30% bonus to physical strength.
Fast Recovery that was unmatched in saving medicine costs.
And Irregular, a trait that transcended species limitations.
Thanks to these three elements forming a trinity, Dan gained vitality more tenacious than anyone else.
That's how Dan learned the laws of the street through his body alone, without any know-how.
Getting bruised, torn, and broken was commonplace, often going hungry for days or being bedridden like a corpse.
One year passed like that.
Dan managed to survive.
"Managed" was the precise expression.
Even Dan didn't expect to endure this long.
Of course, nothing particularly changed just because a year had passed.
Today too, Dan just sat in his usual corner of the pub and ordered dinner.
"Here you go."
A plate of fried chicken landed on the table with a thud.
As Dan watched the owner return to the kitchen and was about to rub his palms together to start eating—
「???」━━━━━━━━━
NEO ?? ??? ????
??? ?? ???? ?????
?? ??? ?? ?? ????
━━━━━━━━━━━━
Dan's expression crumpled at the translucent window that appeared before his eyes.
"Shit..."
The curse naturally slipped out.
This damn status window would pop up without proper hints and ruin people's mood.
Dan hated the status window.
Beyond hate, he loathed it.
He was irritated by it being plastered with question marks, annoyed by its sudden appearances without warning, and above all, he found its translucent appearance horrifying, as if it was saying your struggles are just a fake life visible through a monitor.
It's a world where even bodies are being replaced by machines.
Sometimes it was hard to trust even his own senses.
What if all of this was just a mindless combination of zeros and ones?
"Go away. Please."
Dan waved his hand in the air to dismiss the status window.
Then forced a smile.
The chicken he proceeded to eat with anticipation was, good lord.
Disgustingly tasteless.
Dan's eyes twitched at the spongy texture.
He'd been had. It was definitely delicious last time. How could this happen?
But what could he do?
His pockets were already lighter.
Making the best of it, Dan silently chewed the chicken.
Of course, having no money left was a problem.
Dan lived day by day.
Saving money as an individual in Downtown was like tattooing "Please kill me" on your forehead.
Being from the streets where the concept of credit didn't exist from birth, not being able to get even a simple credit card also contributed to Dan's day-to-day living.
Looking back, he had many regrets.
Ah. Should've just chosen a corporation or family.
Must have been crazy to pick something like nomad.
If he'd chosen a corporation, he could've been living a leisurely life somewhere in those skyscrapers, flipping through documents with a glass of wine, instead of this hellhole slum called Downtown.
A family would've been good too.
Magic, swordsmanship, spirits, and such.
If he'd become one of the purists inheriting past legacies, that would've surely been a noble life.
But a nomad?
The streets were a jungle of survival of the fittest.
If you don't understand its nature, you'll just be hunted.
Actually, the reason Dan chose nomad as his life path was because this background setting seemed cool.
To be frank, being born male, it was a setting that naturally made your blood boil.
Street dogs who equated life with struggle.
A rough journey starting from rock bottom.
With keywords exuding badass vibes,
This was naturally more appealing than being a spoiled rich kid from birth.
But that's only a story for those watching this world through a monitor.
Reality was incomparably more cruel.
In that sense, Dan was proud of himself.
For managing to survive a year.
For still being alive with all limbs intact.
"Hey."
It was a thuggish voice.
Dan, who was focused on chewing, raised his head at that voice.
His naturally slanted gaze met their eyes.
As expected, an unfamiliar face.
But in Downtown, you don't show courtesy just because it's your first meeting.
And Dan was no different.
"What."
Dan mumbled while chewing meat and inconspicuously rolled his eyes.
He noticed men surrounding the table.
One, two, three, four, five.
None equipped with cyberware.
No, wait. They could be internal types.
While Dan was silently measuring angles, the one who first spoke opened his mouth again.
"Heard you beat up our youngest pretty bad."
"Huh?"
Dan tilted his head.
His narrowed eyes belatedly found a new face.
A guy maliciously glaring while hiding behind the others.
That bruised face looked familiar.
"Oh, you?"
Dan pointed at him with his index finger.
Recalling that this morning, a pickpocket with exactly that face tried to swipe his wallet while deliberately bumping shoulders.
"Didn't you say you'd never show your face again if I let you off once?"
When he was about to break the wrist to punish those nasty habits, the guy had begged like a fly, saying those words.
Please let me off just once. I'll never show my face again.
So he'd only crushed his nose and let him go.
"Shut up! You bastard. You're dead now, got it?"
Coming at him with a gang and shouting like that?
Dan sighed.
As he stabbed the last piece of chicken with his fork and brought it to his mouth, the men watching him one by one pulled out blades.
A voice mixed with laughter came through the approaching knife tips.
"If you messed up someone's face that badly, you must have compensation ready, right? Show it. If it looks good enough, we'll settle for just cutting off your arms and legs."
To that, Dan answered while pulling the fork from his mouth.
"No money. Spent it all."
Then he stabbed the closest man's thigh with the gleaming fork.
"...?"
The man's scream came out a beat late, as if he hadn't calculated that mere dining utensils could pierce through clothes and deeply into flesh.
"Aagh!!"
Meanwhile, Dan spun his hips and kicked the fork with only its handle sticking out.
The blade dug deeper until it hit bone.
As a result, the bone that couldn't withstand the external force snapped, and an even louder scream filled the pub.
"This crazy bastard!"
"Kill him!"
By the time his companions finally came to their senses and shouted that.
Dan was already up from his seat throwing a punch.
Crack!
The fist that cut through the air struck the kneeling man's face.
A stream of blood drew an arc following the head thrown back.
Dan didn't stop.
He immediately spun around and drove his knee into the stomach of another man rushing in.
Guhurk. With a sound like squeezing lungs, he grabbed the tilting head from behind and Bang! slammed it into the table.
Cracks spread like meteor impacts across the thin glass panel as blood seeped between them.
Simultaneously, Dan released his grip on the hair.
He wanted to slam it down a few more times, but a knife was flying in from right beside him.
Grab.
"...?!"
The man's eyes bulged, not expecting anyone to grab a blade with bare hands.
But only for a moment. The man's eyes curved into crescents.
Just pull the knife toward the body and those fingers that found the wrong owner would fall off.
So he pulled with all his might, but.
What's this? It won't budge?
"What?"
While the man strained and struggled at the sensation like a knife stuck between rocks.
Dan's forehead crashed into the man's nose like a dump truck.
Blood bursting, yellow teeth flying.
At the same time, a voice from over his shoulder.
You bastard!
Dan turned around.
A blade grazed his cheek, and Dan's hand firmly grabbed the opponent's neck.
Lifted high and slammed down hard!
When the so-called choke slam landed on bare ground instead of a mat.
Bang!
With an unexpected gunshot, a hot sensation spread like paint from his right shoulder joint.
Dan furrowed his brows at the pain he could never get used to and turned his face.
He saw a man aiming a gun with a face twisted in rage.
"Die!"
The trigger was pulled with the enraged shout.
However, the fired bullet only shattered an innocent ceiling light.
It was because Dan, who had already closed the distance, grabbed the man's wrist and forcibly lifted it.
"Wh-what strength...!"
A fist inevitably buried itself in the face of the man who was struggling, unable to believe his arm had lost control.
Dan smoothly took the gun from the unconscious man's hand.
Then the muzzle pointed at the floor spat fire one by one at the five fallen men.
Now only one remained.
The pickpocket sitting on the floor trembled his chin.
He hadn't run away because the fight before his eyes ended too quickly.
"W-wait. Just wait."
Dan walked step by step toward him who was waving his hands while dragging his bottom backwards.
"Hey."
"Y-yes? Yesyesyes."
"Do you know what day it is?"
"Th-that..."
The pickpocket rolled his eyes around.
What day it is, out of nowhere?
He had no idea, but saying he didn't know seemed dangerous in its own way.
To the man who hesitated, unable to open or close his mouth, Dan kindly gave the answer.
"The answer is it's my first anniversary."
"...? Anniversary? D-do you have a girlfriend?"
"Girlfriend, you say."
Dan wiped his cheek with the back of his gun-holding hand.
Blood smeared to below his ear following the brushing touch.
"Today is the first birthday of a loser who cried for his mommy at age 30 getting beat up. That's why I let things slide earlier. Because it's a meaningful day."
"I-I don't understand what you're..."
"You don't need to."
Right after, a dry firing sound hit the ear.
A brass shell casing rolled on the floor, and the gun that had perfectly emptied its magazine stopped moving with its slide pushed back, while a faint gunpowder smell rose from inside.
The pickpocket with a hole in his forehead falling face-first came next.
Only then did Dan casually throw the spent gun behind him, then crouch down and start going through the corpses.
Wait. Does this make me a pickpocket too?
No, dead people don't have ownership rights.
Do they? Whatever, they don't even if they do.
Korean might have them but Downtown doesn't.
Damn slum.
Damn game.
Damn life.
After finishing his self-rationalization, he found crumpled credit bills in his hand.
Dan put more than half on the table as repair and cleaning fees.
If you don't want to be on bad terms with the owner, it can't be helped.
That's how things worked in this field.
In fact, the owner who had already loaded his shotgun only quietly lowered his arm after checking the bills on the table.
Dan slightly raised his hand to him before stumbling out of the pub.
One step, two steps, three steps.
Leaving behind a day that was special only to himself.
The trail of blood drops following his tired footsteps eventually disappeared into the darkness of the street.