In Cyberpunk, There are Just Too Many Unbelievers

After Jimmy’s possession incident, normalcy returned to the orphanage once again.

With Amon and Sonia acting as the older brother and sister, caring for the younger siblings, the children awaited Christmas.

Having already forgotten the fact that they had received gifts in commemoration of Black Friday, they looked forward to what presents would be placed by their bedsides.

Aside from Jimmy suddenly having seizures whenever he saw the bible, it was truly a peaceful orphanage scene.

Within that peaceful daily life, Amon and Sonia headed to the swordsmanship dojo they had now become accustomed to.

The lessons that had started on the instructor’s recommendation had already spanned two weeks.

They were now fully recognized as students of the dojo.

Of course, there had been some grumbling.

Some students were jealous that a couple of orphans were receiving free, direct lessons from the instructor.

But as with any martial arts dojo involving sparring, most of the complaints were resolved in the ring.

They couldn’t help but acknowledge Amon and Sonia after being used as their punching bags.

Before they knew it, the two had become the dojo’s talented, adorable youngest students.

It took those youngest students an hour after leaving the orphanage to arrive at the dojo.

“Hello.”

“Oh, you’re here. Go change clothes.”

Like any other day, the swordsmanship lesson began.

According to the instructor’s words on the first day, the training Amon and Sonia needed differed.

Based on the instructor’s analysis, Sonia tended to overly rely on her intuition and reflexes.

This was a common phenomenon among genius martial artists, and could be supplemented through psychological warfare and fundamentals training.

In contrast, to the instructor, Amon was clearly an anomaly.

“Why are your techniques so inconsistently scattered?”

Some techniques were present while their foundational techniques were missing, and completely unrelated schools would suddenly pop up.

To use an analogy, Amon’s swordsmanship was like taking bits and pieces from various schools that looked good, resulting in a complete lack of harmony.

Putting it differently, it was as if he had learned swordsmanship piecemeal from SNS and books, yet was perfectly executing those disjointed pieces.

On top of that, he had even partially learned countermeasures against each school’s specialties.

To analogize it, his techniques were sewn together like rags, perhaps?

Most instructors would call it a bad habit and erase everything to instill their own swordsmanship instead.

But this instructor was different.

He saw it as Amon’s unique individuality and strength, and made no attempt to correct it.

“The reason you’re a patchwork is because you didn’t learn the sword styles systematically. If I have you memorize them in a systematic order, wouldn’t that get resolved?”

Accordingly, Amon’s training involved the instructor teaching him all the foundational elements whenever Amon showed a certain sword style, having him systematically memorize them.

He also had Amon learn how to improvise through sparring, studying variations on previous patterns.

The instructor’s method was very satisfying for Amon.

‘I thought he would instill a particular school.’

The instructor had studied abroad in Japan, mastering various schools, and had even won tournaments in China.

So Amon had naturally expected to have a specific school’s sword style instilled in him, but that was not the case at all.

In fact, when Amon brought up schools, the instructor reacted with disdain:

“What? Schools? That’s just killing your individuality. I absolutely won’t teach that.”

Rather than teaching any schools, he actively discouraged them.

Stating that preset schools were poison to geniuses, the instructor did not teach formalized swordsmanship to the two of them.

This was due to his educational philosophy:

[Flaws should be corrected, but weaknesses must be embraced.]

According to his philosophy, weaknesses were unavoidable side effects that came with strengths.

It was best to supplement them if possible, but one must not forcibly uproot them at the cost of losing their strengths.

‘In the end, no one can do everything alone in this world. A swordsman should be satisfied within their own capability, and leave their weaknesses to their comrades. Trying to cover all weaknesses will just make you a master of none.’

He preferred maximizing strengths to an overwhelming degree rather than supplementing weaknesses.

His educational philosophy matched Amon’s playstyle remarkably well.

As a result, Amon sincerely trusted and followed the instructor.

And the instructor, seeing Amon’s rapid daily growth, poured everything he had into nurturing him.

The nurturer and the one seeking growth – the synergy between these two was remarkable.

“Winner! Amon!”

Amon’s sword stopped precisely in front of the assistant instructor’s vital point.

This achievement was made just one month after first picking up the sword.

It was a pure technique sparring match, without any lethal techniques or body reinforcement allowed.

Against freestyle swordsmanship incorporating enhancement procedures and physical abilities, there were still many opponents he couldn’t defeat. But in pure technique matches, within this dojo, the only person Amon couldn’t beat was the head instructor himself.

And this remarkable feat was accomplished in just one month’s time.

At this point, even Amon had to acknowledge it.

He had a talent for swordsmanship.

Only then did he add a check mark next to swordsmanship on his talent list and re-examine his potential skill trees.

Swords and disguise.

To anyone looking at it, it was clearly an assassination-specialized skill tree.

As Amon nodded his head while concretizing his career path, someone approached from behind.

“Congratulations!”

Sonia hugged him from behind.

Amon barely managed to catch himself with his reflexes as he was almost knocked forward by her weight, supporting her in his arms.

When he tapped her arm wrapped around his neck, Sonia’s arm slid off with a soft rustle.

With a wry smile, Amon said,

“I’m really sweaty though.”

“It’s fine. I sweated a lot too.”

Wasn’t that a rather inappropriate response?

For a moment, Amon was about to retort, but as the more mature one, he silently accepted her nonsensical remark.

Soon after, the two showered at the dojo’s shower room and left the dojo.

As always, they headed back toward the orphanage.

The city was bustling in anticipation of the approaching Christmas.

In a situation where they could easily get swept away and separated by the crowds.

Though they were all grown teenagers who could find their way back to the orphanage, it was safer to stick together to prevent any unpleasant incidents.

Amon and Sonia’s hands naturally intertwined.

Observing the crowds, Sonia exclaimed in awe,

“There are so many people.”

“Don’t let go of my hand, stay right by me.”

“Okay…”

At Amon’s words, Sonia shyly stuck close to him.

The two made their way through the crowds toward the bus stop.

The path to the bus stop was so familiar that they didn’t get lost among the many people.

But when they were just one corner away from the bus stop, a sudden disruption occurred.

“Liniaaa!!! Liniaaa!!!! Daddy’s sorry!”

A booming male voice came from the direction of the bus stop around the corner.

Most people turned puzzled gazes toward the source of that voice.

But not Amon.

From his multi-playthrough experience with Punk City, a person shouting loudly in the middle of the street was bound to trigger a random event.

And 99 percent of those random events were not favorable.

‘Eek!’

Sensing danger, Amon pulled Sonia behind the corner for cover.

Sure enough, indiscriminate gunfire erupted from beyond the corner where the shouting had come from.

Ratatatata!

Kyaaahh!

Chaos unfolded, a hellish scene of people’s screams, cries, and the sounds of the dying intermingled.

Amon grasped the situation at nearly reflexive speed.

‘They’ve lost it.’

Those words carried multiple meanings.

That gunman had lost it, this situation had lost it, and this whole world had lost it.

Amon was well aware of the words used to define such madmen and the reasons behind it, but this was not the time to dwell on such things.

Before the people around them could fully comprehend the situation unfolding around the corner, Amon grabbed Sonia’s hand and pulled her along.

‘I clearly remember them saying this year would be a White Christmas.’

To Amon, at least this street seemed destined for a Red Christmas.

He didn’t go far, immediately dashing into the nearest clothing store.

Pulled along by Amon’s hand, Sonia was sucked into the store as well.

“Excuse us, elder!”

An elderly grandfather welcomed them.

Based on his facial features, he seemed to be of Asian descent.

In a normal situation, Amon would have asked about kimchi, but he had no time.

Either the old man was hard of hearing, or due to his age, he still hadn’t grasped the situation.

Amon quickly explained the circumstances to the elderly owner and took shelter further inside the store with him.

There was a possibility of being hit by stray bullets or shrapnel, so instead of remaining in the store, they headed to the attic storage area deeper inside the building.

While entering the interior with the store owner, Amon asked him,

“Is there no back door or anything?”

“Sorry, but the landlord did an extension with a container blocking the back door.”

“Damn it.”

Amon could only click his tongue at the landlord’s personality, lightly disregarding things like building codes.

But with the shooting rampage already underway, going back outside would be insane.

With no choice, the three of them hid in the attic that served as a fabric storage area.

Surrounded by piles of cloth and clothing, Sonia voiced her doubt to Amon.

“Wouldn’t it be better to just run away?”

“No, this is the best option right now.”

Trying to escape through those crowds would be a considerable gamble.

Not only was there a not insignificant chance of being trampled to death, their movement speed wouldn’t be very fast either.

And the madman firing indiscriminately wouldn’t spare anyone.

He would likely mow down everyone near the bus stop first, then start picking off those one corner away.

And Amon and Sonia would highly likely become victims.

Amon didn’t bother explaining all those details to Sonia.

He simply held her head close and pulled her into his embrace to reassure her.

The store owner, watching them, cleared his throat awkwardly and averted his gaze.

Then, in a voice just barely audible, he muttered:

“What an auspicious time.”

Meanwhile, a few seconds after Amon fled into the store.

People also began fleeing in disarray.

The disorderly escape of the countless people could only lead to further accidents.

A hellish scene unfolded.

Corpses were strewn about.

It was indistinguishable whether they had died from being trampled, from gunshots, or from traffic accidents.

As Amon had predicted, most of those who had openly fled ended up dead.

Most of the people within one block from the bus stop when the shooting started were killed, and about half of those one corner’s distance away also died.

Even those beyond the gunman’s reach ended up dying for various reasons.

That said, Amon’s approach was not necessarily the correct answer either.

Those who took shelter in nearby buildings but were too slow or hid in poor locations also ended up as silent corpses.

Amon’s method was simply a choice with higher survival odds, but definitely not the right answer.

In this situation, there was only one right answer:

To never encounter such a madman from the very start.

“Liniaaaa… why couldn’t you eat the pizza I brought…!!”

The perpetrator of this catastrophe wailed mournfully.

An imposing man with shaggy, gorilla-like hair and a burly build.

It was indistinguishable whether he was a mutant or had undergone gorilla-related procedures.

But one thing was certain – he had received extensive cybernetic and magitech enhancements.

The mechanical components and magic tattoos that seemed to outnumber his actual flesh told that much.

The crazed gorilla-man fired a mounted machine gun connected to his right arm, shedding artificial tear fluid that looked like bloody tears.

Limply dangling on his back was a baby doll.

The gorilla-man would cry madly, then suddenly become docile when a “pah-pah” sound came from the doll, gently stroking it.

Then he would try to feed the doll pizza, which of course the doll could not accept.

That would trigger another rampage.

The gorilla-man’s rampage-depression-calm cycle repeated about every 5 minutes.

In the meantime, the police, who had been on high alert for the Christmas season, arrived at the scene.

They immediately surrounded the gorilla-man with police cars and opened fire on him.

But as expected from his physique, his skin did not even flinch at ordinary bullets.

With a clear ping sound that should not come from human skin, the bullets bounced right off.

The problem was that those bullets were enough to provoke the gorilla-man’s anger.

“You’re here to kill Linia, you bastards!”

With a garbled pronunciation, spitting as he spoke, the gorilla-man exploded with excitement.

His target shifted from the innocent civilians to the police.

Ratatatata!

A machine gun that could not be obtained in ordinary civilian markets spat fire.

Several police cars were shredded like paper, and the officers taking cover fell to the gunfire.

The lucky officers who could benefit from the combined synergy of police cars and bulletproof vests managed to get back up.

But those directly hit by bullets without cover, hit in unprotected areas, or struck in vital points by shrapnel could never rise again.

“Hey, isn’t that a military-grade machine gun!? Where did you even get that!?”

One officer shouted.

But there was no one present who could answer that.

The officers’ measly pistols and rifles could not even scratch the gorilla-man’s body, and the officers were helplessly mowed down like extras in a movie.

“When is the special forces unit arriving!”

“They’re on their way -”

Squish!

The head of the officer answering exploded.

“Fuck!”

His fellow officer had no other words.

If he could, he wanted to flee.

But this world was not kind to fleeing officers.

For such an officer, dishonorable discharge was the bare minimum, with him and his family facing a future of being endlessly mocked on SNS for the rest of their lives.

It would be better to face an honorable death here, so his family could at least receive state compensation and exemption benefits as bereaved families of the honored fallen.

A rookie who had only been wearing the police badge for a month cursed repeatedly as he blindly fired from cover without even aiming properly.

Since getting hit meant nothing anyway.

But that choice was not a wise one.

Indiscriminate firing in an encirclement situation could lead to friendly fire incidents, as well as unintentionally hitting unintended targets.

Yes.

For example, the head of the doll being carried on the gorilla-man’s back.

Squish!

The doll was blown to pieces.

And at that exact moment, the gorilla-man’s rampage came to a halt.

In the suddenly quiet scene, one officer muttered,

“Is it over?”

Whether it was those words that caused it, or if it was destined to happen regardless, one thing was certain – the gorilla-man’s state had become abnormal.

He began shedding real blood instead of the artificial tear fluid that had been streaming from his eyes.

And with the baby doll that should have been on his back now gone, his back split open, revealing launchers, plasma cutters, and other weapons.

Waving three pairs of arms that had sprouted from his back, the gorilla-man pounded his chest.

“$#^&%@#!!!!”

Watching that sight, one officer muttered softly,

“Fuck…”

Phase 2 had begun.