Chapter 2: The Saint of the Back Alley (2)

For over a dozen years, Kyla had handled all kinds of jobs in the back alleys of Omega Detroit.

She now sat with a vaguely displeased expression, going over the details of the current request.

“So if I summarize this… you want me to get you a level 3 or higher valid citizen permit, and a place to stay for at least six months. That right?”

Honestly, a job like this wasn’t especially difficult.

Any basic fixer or broker could take it on.

For someone with the title of a well-known fixer like her, it was easily within reach.

As long as the money made sense.

But the client, no matter how she looked at them—

‘Completely broke? No, this is weird.’

Her first impression had been that some scruffy little street urchin had wandered in.

They didn’t look like someone who could afford to pay a fixer’s fee.

And yet, she hadn’t thrown the girl out on the spot, because something about her felt off.

First of all, once the veil was lifted, the girl’s appearance was… remarkable.

An absurdly pretty young girl, peeking out from beneath ragged cloth.

The kind of beauty you might expect from an idol on a holographic ad screen—it was hard to imagine how she’d made it here unharmed through the backstreets.

Even Kyla, who had zero interest in women, had blanked out for a second.

Any average guy, she figured, would probably lose control if he even brushed against her sleeve.

In that light, the beggar disguise made a lot more sense.

But more importantly, Kyla had trained eyes—and she noticed something else.

‘That’s not plastic surgery.’

It was a natural beauty no high-grade polymer implant could reproduce.

And this wasn’t just intuition—she’d run a subtle scan from the doorway…

And found virtually no signs of cybernetic components.

‘It’s like she hasn’t had a single implant put in.’

But Kyla immediately shook her head internally.

That was impossible.

Especially here, in the lower districts.

In a cesspool overflowing with garbage, where the air, food, water—even the act of breathing—were all toxic, no unmodified human body could survive.

‘For that to be possible…’

She would’ve had to grow up without ever touching anything unclean, never needing to work a day in her life.

Born at the top of the skyscrapers, where a name alone could solve everything—only the ultra-elite could live like that.

“……..”

Kyla swallowed dryly.

It was unlikely, but… could this girl actually be a runaway heiress from a megacorp?

‘Her face fits the theory, at least.’

If her guess was right, this could spiral into a mess she’d rather not be involved in.

But on the other hand… it could also be a huge stroke of luck.

‘Maybe she just snuck down for a rebellious “adventure” with pockets full of allowance cash.’

That thought alone made Kyla sit up straighter and fix her expression.

“So, if I handle this job for you, how much compensation are we talking?”

A chance to earn a fat stack of credit dollars doing some light errands.

If she played her cards right, she might even add a zero to the fee.

But the answer that came back was completely beyond anything she could have imagined.

“In exchange for your help, I’ll cure your chronic illness.”

“…….”

She blanked out for a moment.

‘What kind of nonsense is this?’

At first, she thought it had to be a joke—one she didn’t quite get.

Because she only had one chronic condition: Cybernetic Overmodification Syndrome.

High-output implants designed for combat gradually poisoned both mind and body.

The flesh connected to excessive metal decayed from immune rejection, and the central nervous software that governed cybernetic control slowly eroded mental stability.

If you didn’t constantly inject stronger inhibitors and recalibrate your software, you’d eventually go insane or die.

It was the incurable curse humans paid for tampering with advanced tech.

“You’re saying you can fix that?”

It would’ve sounded more reasonable if she’d said she’d pay a hundred billion credits.

Because that at least had a tiny chance of happening—this didn’t.

It was common knowledge that Cybernetic Overmodification Syndrome couldn’t be cured.

It was practically a law of physics.

Like how the Earth revolves around the Sun, or how the dead don’t rise again.

No matter how advanced the tech, there was no way to repair the soul’s void once the flesh was severed and replaced with machinery.

Knowing all this, Kyla didn’t bother hiding her disbelief.

“Am I misunderstanding you? You mean you’ll pay for a lifetime supply of immune suppressants?”

“No. I mean I’ll heal your body so it no longer hurts.”

“Heh… wow.”

Kyla let out a dry laugh as she stared at the girl, who repeated herself with unsettling calm.

If it could be solved with money or tech, it wouldn’t be this absurd.

Countless corporations had tried and failed.

Mercs on the streets with cheap knockoff implants, elite agents from megacorps with full oversight—none of them were exempt from dreading ‘retirement.’

Even now, people in these alleys were dying from rejection symptoms.

And Kyla… she was no different. Her symptoms had already begun.

“…..”

She unconsciously clenched her trembling hand.

The medication dosages her doctor prescribed kept increasing, but her condition was steadily worsening.

Her nightmares were getting more frequent, too.

Visions of losing her mind from a faulty brain cortex implant and gunning down civilians before being shot by law enforcement.

Or vomiting blood and collapsing from a total system crash when rejection finally overtook her.

How much time did she have left?

Ten years? Twenty?

If she was lucky, maybe she could land one last big job and retire.

Earn enough to cover the rest of her treatment, downgrade her implants, and scrape by.

But most street mercs never made it that far.

They usually got gunned down long before.

That’s why people called it a life on the edge of a blade.

She’d made peace with it long ago.

Ever since she ran away as a teenager, refusing to survive by selling herself like others.

She had vowed to choose how she lived and how she died with her own hands.

She’d clawed her way up for over a decade.

And all it got her was a business card that said “Fixer,” and a body wrecked from cyber-addiction.

Even so, she told herself she’d done what she could.

No regrets.

But even old scars that no longer sting will hurt if you press on them.

And right now, she was furious.

“Listen… there are things you just don’t say. I don’t care how privileged or sheltered you are—lying to desperate people like this is—”

“If you don’t believe me, then let me pay you in advance.”

“What?”

But the girl still looked completely unfazed.

At this point, Kyla was more curious than angry.

Where the hell was this confidence coming from?

So she didn’t stop what came next.

“You’re right. Showing is faster than telling.”

The girl closed her eyes as if in prayer, and gently reached her fingers toward Kyla’s forehead.

And then—

“…..!”

There was light.

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I stared into the long-cold coffee cup in front of me, lost in thought.

Honestly, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t doubted whether this plan would really work.

I’d boldly claimed I could cure her, but that power—[Radiance of Healing]—was only something I’d seen used in the game.

Even with my appearance changed, I hadn’t been sure I could actually use it.

At least, not until that accidental incident before I arrived here.

“……”

I looked down at my own hands without thinking.

White, slender fingers.

Smooth skin without a single blemish.

Not the hands I was born with—but beautiful enough to be in a commercial.

And yet, just ten minutes ago, these hands had been drenched in blood.

I’d sliced them on a shard of glass while digging through the trash.

The pain was tolerable, but the gash had gone deep enough to reveal bone.

I’d been shocked at how much it bled—so much I thought I might pass out.

Even remembering it now made me shudder.

But now, there wasn’t a single scar.

I had used some kind of instinctive power in a moment of desperation.

[Radiance of Healing].

(TL Note: A basic skill from the Saintess class in the game. Its effect is to “heal and remove status ailments from a target.”)

It was a simple tooltip, but that single line had allowed me to perform a miracle.

A wound that would’ve needed dozens of stitches at a hospital healed perfectly, without a trace.

And that’s when the plan came to me.

To offer this power in exchange for help—from someone who, in the game, would understand.

The first character who came to mind was [Fixer Kyla].

One of the most loyal characters in Neo Front Cyber City—easily top five.

She might seem prickly on the surface, but she never betrayed her team, even in the most dangerous missions.

That’s why I trusted her enough to seek her out.

Thankfully, her office had been in exactly the same place as in the game.

Just then, I heard footsteps approaching from outside.

She must’ve returned.

The sounds grew louder—until the front door opened with a bang.

Facing her again after a few hours, I greeted her.

“Welcome back.”

“…….”

Kyla, who’d said she was heading to a nearby implant maintenance clinic, looked dazed.

“How was the checkup?”

“…The doctor was speechless. Asked me what kind of magic I used.”

She muttered in a strangely hollow tone.

“My hormone levels and white blood cell count are back to normal. They said I won’t need inhibitors anymore. And… more than anything, the noise is gone. That damn screech in my head from the neuro-boost implant… it’s completely silent.”

Her trembling eyes locked onto mine.

“What the hell did you do to my body?”