Chapter 4: The Saint of the Back Alley (4)

After all that thinking and wandering, the conclusion was still the same: I needed money.

Whether it was gathering intel to find a way back home, or simply covering food, shelter, and clothing for daily survival—it all required money.

Especially in this city, just breathing seemed to cost money.

It was like living in a fully realized dystopian capitalism.

“Anyway, I need a stable source of income.”

In that sense, let’s think about it for a second.

In the Cyberpunk setting, what’s the first thing that comes to mind when it comes to making money?

Things like smuggling contraband, drug deals, and armed robberies—shootouts and chaos, basically.

Well, it was a game.

If it wasn’t flashy or stimulating, what was the point?

It was that very hard-boiled appeal that drew me to the game in the first place.

Most of the playable jobs in the original were things like fixers or mercenaries.

“Alright, decision made.”

And so, the first job I chose to take in this world was—

“Welcome! Is this order to go?”

A part-time job at a pizza shop.

What were you expecting?

Now that this world wasn’t just a game but my reality, of course I should avoid dangerous actions.

I’d never hit anyone in my life.

And now I was supposed to run around with violent mercs and potentially kill people?

No way I’d be able to handle that.

If someone lived peacefully all their life and could just suddenly pull that kind of thing off overnight… they were probably born insane.

Yeah.

This wasn’t the kind of game where you could just retry after taking a bullet to the head.

Until I found a way back to the real world, the safest bet was to lay low and avoid risk.

“Stay safe and sound. Prioritize survival above all.”

Just as I nodded to myself, thinking that, a voice called out from the kitchen.

“Takeout order up! Two boxes of synthetic pepperoni!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

The woman with brown hair stacking the boxes and walking over was Jenny, the owner of this place.

I got introduced to her through Kyla, and thankfully she liked me enough to offer me a job.

She was warm and easygoing—within a few days, she was already calling me by a nickname.

“Ever since Eve showed up, our sales have gone way up. I had a feeling from the start. Total lucky charm, you are.”

“Ahaha…”

Evinia. Eve.

Still a name I wasn’t used to.

But I had to get used to this too, if I was going to survive here.

Anyway, now that I had a job, it seemed like I didn’t have to worry about basic living costs—at least for a while.

At this point, someone might ask:

Wouldn’t it be easier to just use your “ability” like you did with Kyla, instead of working all day for a few bucks an hour?

I’d thought about that too.

But the [Saintess’s Ability] in reality was a power I didn’t fully understand.

I couldn’t explain how it worked, or even guarantee its limits.

Using it for money—especially in exchange for compensation—came with too many uncertainties.

Kyla’s case was a very special exception.

At the time, I had nothing left and was desperate.

It just happened to go well.

But a power you can’t explain or guarantee the effects of?

Not something to casually use in a deal.

So that idea was shelved for now.

For the time being, a simple part-time job seemed like the best option.

“Preferably one where I don’t draw attention to myself.”

Again, [Omega Detroit] was a dangerous city.

Especially the slums, outside corporate control—hotbeds for mercenaries and cartels.

My appearance alone had changed dramatically.

Using some kind of mysterious psychic power and drawing attention?

No matter how you looked at it, that was asking for trouble.

I’d seen enough missions in the original game involving kidnappings of influencers and well-known figures.

Living a quiet, normal life was the better path.

“Not that I need to be paranoid or anything.”

Even in a dangerous place, people still had to live.

Despite the chaos, harm rarely came to law-abiding civilians.

Most of the high murder rate came from turf wars between criminal groups.

There were still cops—nominal ones, at least—trying to maintain some order, and during serious incidents, the city and the corps would step in to restore stability.

So long as I didn’t cross any lines, I didn’t have to worry too much.

“Like, say… getting involved with a gang. As long as I avoid something reckless like that—”

I shouldn’t face any serious danger.

That’s what I thought.

---

A large hall filled with dozens of people.

The air was thick with tension.

Just looking at the people seated there made it obvious.

Bodies modified with brutal combat prosthetics.

Tattoos for intimidation—or pride.

Smoke-filled air, clouded by endless puffs from cyber inhalers.

Cybernetic eyes glinted in the dark, all scanning each other with guarded suspicion.

These were no ordinary folks.

Each face belonged to a mercenary of repute, or someone bearing the insignia of a feared criminal syndicate.

It felt like standing in a warehouse filled with explosives.

Even the tiniest spark could set everything off.

Clunk—

The sudden noise of the entrance door swinging open drew everyone’s gaze at once.

And through those gazes, stepped a girl—a small, out-of-place silhouette.

With one step forward, her silver-white hair shimmered, and her innocent, sky-blue eyes came into view.

Her frail appearance clashed starkly with the brutal mood of the room.

At first glance, it looked like a lost child had wandered into the wrong place.

The room went quiet.

One of the men who saw her stood and slowly walked forward.

Step— step—

“…….”

“………..”

And then, kneeling before her, he bowed his head.

“I witness the Radiance.”

As soon as those words echoed, everyone else dropped to their knees.

Some whispered prayers.

Others bowed their heads in silence.

But one thing was the same.

They all treated the girl with reverence.

Each step she took through the crowd—

Hardened street criminals and mercs flinched, cautiously clearing a path, as if afraid her hem might brush against them.

Crossing the packed hall, the girl climbed the stage.

The room was so silent, even breathing felt too loud.

What replaced the silence was an air of anticipation—zeal, even—in their eyes.

Finally, the girl spoke.

“Now, let us all pray together. O merciful Radiance, guide us through darkness, and show grace to the children who have lost their way.”

As her voice rang out, everyone closed their eyes and recited the prayer without hesitation.

Yes.

Everyone gathered here belonged to a single faith.

[The Merciful Radiance].

A name no one had heard of until recently—now the god they all revered.

It was inevitable.

They’d all witnessed miracles.

Blessings that science couldn’t explain—healing tainted souls and broken bodies.

But more than the miracles, it was her warmth—reaching out to all without discrimination—that changed hearts.

No one had cared for the slum dwellers before.

They’d been shoved aside like trash, clawing at life on the edges.

Those who gave everything—even their souls to machines—for a chance at survival had only found more despair.

But what saved them was the mercy of a girl—a divine hand extended with no price asked.

In a city where nothing came free, that kindness changed people’s beliefs.

And so, [Radiance Faith] became part of the slums.

They were those who sought salvation.

A gathering of the blessed, forming prayer groups, then slowly growing into an organized faith.

And their leader—hailed as the [Saintess of the Backstreets]—was…

Me.

“How the hell did it come to this?!”

Where did it all go wrong?

Standing in this surreal scene, with mercs and criminals bowing their heads to me, I was about to lose my mind.

They still looked scary as hell.

Some of them were literal gangsters.

Seeing those same faces kneel to me and pray like that?

I could never get used to it.

Cold sweat ran down the back of my neck.

Honestly, I didn’t want to pretend to be some Saintess.

Just a few weeks ago, I had barely gotten used to this city and started a part-time job to cover my bills.

And now I was… running a cult I’d never even heard of?

Was it even possible for things to go this wrong?

I had no idea where it all started going sideways.

As I silently screamed inside, my eyes met someone’s gaze—someone sitting in the very front row.

She was a striking urban beauty, with golden eyes.

Her black hair tied neatly in a low bun, and her tailored suit gave her the vibe of a career woman—or maybe a cold, elite investigator.

I’d never once seen her smile.

Her face was unreadable, her eyes deep as an ocean trench.

As I looked into those unfathomable eyes, I suddenly remembered.

This all began… the moment I met her.