WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: Haruto
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
◈ A Gacha Addict's Life in Fusionpunk ◈
Chapter 21: The Eight-Foot Widow
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1.
Why do herbivores form herds?
Because they're weak.
A truly strong, brave male doesn't form a herd.
Until now, I'd depended on other people too much.
If I was being honest, even seeking out Akitt and Areng was proof of my weakness.
Just because we'd gotten along pretty well last run, I tried to lean on them when I had no reason to.
That bond. That weak desire to entrust myself to others. It turned me into Cedric tartare.
But now things were different!
“I won't believe in something like friendship ever again!”
I'd cut off that half-assed bond with my own hands. I was stronger now.
Like that rogue ninja from the Leaf Village who wiped out his entire clan.
“Does Laplace’s Eye have a Mangekyo awakening or anything?”
「Laplace’s Eye」: Sorry.
“Right.”
Too bad.
Anyway, I'd sorted out my thoughts while digesting Chapagetti.
Now it was time to settle on a playstyle for the fourth run.
First, let's review the third run.
The third run had set a new world record for a lightspeed retirement.
That run, I died in one day with my organs crushed and limbs chopped off without even getting to touch Arbel.
But what did I gain?
Far more than during the second run, when I'd stubbornly survived.
I earned a whopping 92 points, bringing my total straight up to 104.
I got a free “The Hotel Abyss Suite Room Voucher”, and even earned the title Poison Mushroom Appraiser.
Sure, it felt like I'd used a slightly exploitative strategy, but I didn't feel guilty.
Because I had the entirely rational counterargument of, “So it's normal game progression for a crazy samurai bitch to hunt me down in this fucked-up shithole of a Necropolis right from the starting point?”
Anyway.
Even when I spent the same life, the results could differ this much.
Careful route selection.
Efficient point farming through different playstyles was this important.
Then what should I aim for in the fourth run?
The third run had made me realize something deep in my bones.
“I'm!!! Weak!!!!”
It felt right, so I fell to my knees, covered my face with both hands, and screamed.
It wasn't just that I was weaker than the crazy samurai bitch.
I was absolutely fucking weak in this whole setting.
I'd drawn one revolver and strutted around like Ikkaku after unlocking Bankai.
How humiliating.
I'd trusted one modern firearm and worried that other people might make me their bottom-rung boss!
This wouldn't do.
In this city, the weak were the strong's punching bags, errand boys, and sex toys.
Even if I escaped the samurai bitch's pursuit and treated Arbel, someone would just take her from me.
“I absolutely oppose NTR!”
I would get stronger.
I needed to get stronger.
Stronger than I was now.
Even if hardships as hard as stone shattered me to pieces.
Even if I had to endure bone-breaking effort and the pain of torn muscles.
“Shop ON.”
As part of that effort, I opened the Status Window.
After replenishing my coat, Hero, and Hero's ammo, I had 95 points left.
Enough for three Joker draws.
Part of me wanted to save them for the Status Window features that would unlock later, but...
Was now really the time to save?
First, I had to try everything I could do each run.
“Heh, hehehe... Hehehe...”
I was feeling kind of depressed a second ago, but just thinking about rolling gacha was already making me excited!
This was why I'd worked so hard to earn points!
Doom-chak, doo-doom-chak!
[Points Used: 95 pt => 65 pt]
“...”
The white draw animation that poured cold water on my excitement meant C rank.
“I'm filing a complaint with the Financial Supervisory Service! You bastard! How could you do this to me?!”
Was this a joke?
Did it know how hard I'd worked my ass off for these points?!
This was worth thirty poisonous mushrooms' worth of points!!!
I'd faithfully handed over all the points I'd earned! Wasn't that exemplary payment behavior?!
「Paltry Indulgence」
- Grade: C
- Description: Make a pitiful face and present this coupon. As cutely as possible. Smile.
- Effect: Once, you are forgiven for a mistake or wrongdoing committed against a being clearly stronger than yourself.
- Note: Single use.
And the effect was this crap, too.
“Whatever. I'll spin the next one right away.”
Doom-tak! Doo-doom-tak! Doom-tak!
The next gacha had a blue animation, R rank.
“Do I need to whine more?”
In my experience, blue at least had value I couldn't ignore.
Wasn't the Misfortune-Warding Talisman, which had seriously useful effects, also R rank?
Flutter.
A thin sheet of paper fell into my palm.
「Lost Receipt」
- Grade: R
- Description: Huh? I definitely used it... Did I? Well, that happens sometimes.
- Effect: Can duplicate a single-use Joker that has already been used.
- Note: Only applies to “single-use” Jokers. Lost Receipt cannot be duplicated. Single use.
“Oh!”
The effect wasn't bad.
Lost Receipt would drastically expand not only my immediate range of actions, but also my future options.
Take the Copy of the Wondrous Dharma Insect-Sound Sutra, for example.
Despite being a high-grade SR Joker, I hadn't been able to use it at all because its effect and risk were impossible to calculate, and it was single use.
But what if I used it like a death rattle at the end of a completely ruined run, then used Lost Receipt to use it once more in the next run?
The second use would have far greater value.
Maybe the lackey summoned by the Wondrous Dharma Insect-Sound Sutra could even beat the samurai bitch?
But seriously, what the hell does it summon?
“It'd be nice if it summoned tentacles.”
My anger suddenly faded.
Apparently, I'd only been R-rank angry.
“Okay, that was good. Keep it going like that, all right?”
[Points Used: 35 pt => 5 pt]
Doo-doom-tak! Doo-doom-tak! Doom-tak!
My heartfelt encouragement meant nothing. This time, the animation was green, UC rank.
“Ugh...”
I didn't even have the energy to get angry anymore.
Listen, Status Window-kun.
I don't want to keep dying in this shitty city.
I'm supposed to flirt with Arbel in a Reverse Bunny Suit while eating apple mango bingsu.
“Let's at least see what it is.”
Tap.
What fell into my palm was a monocle.
It was one of the symbols of the British gentleman, a racist fashion item designed to sit between the eye socket, making it impossible for East Asians to wear.
「Exhumation Monocle」
- Grade: UC
- Description: “No, Your Honor, it is true that I killed someone at that time.”
- Effect: For the past month, view up to three events the target most wants to hide.
- Note: You may view only actions the target is aware of. Remaining uses: 3.
“Hmm. This item is completely useless to me.”
But how many people besides me, Cedric, had lived without a speck of shame before Heaven?
It would probably be useful somewhere.
I definitely had to use it on Arbel!
A month of Arbel's most embarrassing past? I couldn't pass that up.
I stopped running from reality.
“Fuck...”
But was there anywhere to use this besides on Arbel? What good was knowing someone's hidden past if it gave me no proof?
Could I not become any stronger? Was this the growth cap of one-star-from-birth Cedric?
“...”
As I held my head in my hands, genius inspiration flashed through me like Nietzsche.
“...Wait.”
I might be able to use this well.
2.
Four days into the fourth run.
If C Sector was Chinatown, D Sector felt like a massive industrial complex.
Not a clean, orderly industrial complex. More like an Industrial Revolution-era factory district where regulations and labor laws could go to hell.
I figured D Sector was the main reason Necropolis's air quality was worse than India's.
Engines throbbed everywhere like heartbeats, while black smoke poured into the sky like cola.
No, seriously.
My eyes stung just standing still.
But nobody voiced a direct complaint about it.
I only grumbled internally, “Waaah ;_; Cedric's eyes hurt,” but I had no intention of shouting, “Good people! Should we not protect our environment?!”
Twilight Resource Development, one of Necropolis's two corporate giants, was the de facto owner of D Sector.
Even if Necropolis had environmental activists, they would probably be rotting in a pile of trash by now.
Anyway.
I'd stayed near C Sector during both the second and third runs, so it had been a while since I'd come as far as D Sector.
I wondered if Uncle Ron was doing well.
“You still haven't come to your senses, Guts.”
I slapped my cheek.
After experiencing that bitter lesson, I was still expecting something from people.
My destination was District D-1.
The district where Twilight Resource Development's headquarters stood.
I passed through crowds of workers in filthy work clothes.
I squeezed through narrow alleys where mud, stickier than elsewhere from mixed waste oil, squelched beneath my shoes.
The moment I set foot in District D-1, I was briefly at a loss for words.
“This is incredible.”
I was reminded of The Wizard of Oz (1939), infamous for mistreating its child actors.
The landscape's saturation changed across a single step.
The green smog that had always floated like a sea of clouds through the gaps of canyon-like massive moats was gone.
Instead, an impossibly clear, transparent sky stretched overhead.
Even the air entering my lungs was as refreshing as a walk through a forest. Like Sol's Eye.
A boulevard of clean, unbroken brick stretched ahead, with street trees showing off green leaves here and there. Birds chirped everywhere.
And the crowning glory of this artificial landscape.
Beneath a holy shaft of sunlight, Twilight Resource Development's headquarters resembled a gigantic altar built from countless bleached bones.
I hadn't somehow crossed dimensions again while in Necropolis.
This was a miracle bought through a deal with the world.
How much did they have to spend every year in Universal Coins to buy a miracle like this?
“Ahem.”
Enough country-bumpkin gawking.
This was District D-1. If an unidentified outsider like me got caught by security, they'd beat me until I died and turn me into a “resource.”
I checked my reflection in a window.
A briefcase at my side, a monocle over my eye, a neat suit beneath an Armani long coat.
I looked as dandy as a gentleman from Savile Row, the street of British fashion.
Of course I did. I'd spent three days running myself ragged at the Mushroom Factory to barely afford these clothes.
They weren't bespoke, obviously. I'd wandered the black market tirelessly to find clothes in my size and decent condition.
“Arbel will fall head over heels for me.”
Should I start rehearsing?
I ran a hand through my hair, slicked back with pomade, and muttered.
“Take your filthy hands off me. You think you get to check my identification?”
Cedric might have no talent, but he had the looks.
When I lowered my voice and spoke arrogantly, I looked quite convincingly like an aristocrat.
Oh, right. Cedric actually was an aristocrat.
I'd forgotten because he was such a fucking weakling.
“Good. Let's go.”
I'd done my research beforehand, so I walked without hesitation.
After several blocks, I found a luxurious restaurant guarded at the entrance by two men.
[Le Jardin]
Le Jardin.
I knew a little French. It meant “the garden.”
True to its name, green ivy covered the red brick exterior walls.
In this city, green plants were more luxurious than marble statues.
“Please stop.”
As I tried to enter naturally, one of the guards in black sunglasses pushed my shoulder to stop me.
He probably wasn't a restaurant guard but a bodyguard.
Those sunglasses and that suit looked strangely familiar.
“Entry beyond this point is currently restricted to personnel with prior authorization...”
“Take your filthy hands off me. I have an appointment.”
My cold voice made the bodyguard hesitate.
“My deepest apologies. However, procedure requires that you state your purpose and identity before we can allow you through.”
“So?”
“If you could present your identification...”
“Do you think you're somebody? Important enough that I should report who I am to you personally?”
People were strongly influenced by appearances.
I said it again, but Cedric's appearance, when properly dressed, was distinctly aristocratic even from a distance.
It wasn't like I'd put on clown makeup and made a scene for no reason.
“Th-that may be, but we haven't been informed of any other appointments, so procedure...”
“Your name.”
“Pardon?”
“If you want to hear my name, give me yours first.”
Freshly scrubbed at the bathhouse and dressed in flashy, gleaming clothes, the bodyguard's shoulders hunched so much that he was almost pitiful.
I gave him no room to breathe and pressed on.
“I'm not completely heartless. I'll make sure your name is carved on your gravestone.”
When I slipped a hand inside my coat, the bodyguard's face instantly went gray.
In truth, I was preparing to pull Paltry Indulgence from my inventory in case of an emergency, but...
Where were we? Necropolis.
It must have seemed like a threat to his life.
Cold sweat beaded across his face, and he bowed politely.
“My apologies for failing to recognize you. Please go inside.”
“Good. Keep up the work.”
“Yes, sir!”
Tsk, tsk. This was why a man needed nerve.
Refusing inspection at a checkpoint?
If it were me, I'd fire a warning shot and get rewarded with extra leave.
Ding-dong.
The restaurant's interior was every bit as luxurious as its exterior.
How should I put it?
Like a British restaurant with a hundred and fifty years of history, where a racist waiter would never seat an Asian by the window even when there were open tables.
The tables were empty because the place had been reserved.
Two people occupied the window seats that Asians could never hope to reach.
One was an attendant secretary standing behind in a suit.
The other was a beautiful woman seated and eating.
Before the flustered secretary could stammer a word, I pulled out a chair and dropped into it.
“You should probably fire the two guards out front. They're terrible at their jobs.”
I sat across from Ceres Cassian, a director and Mage at Twilight Resource Development.
“You've got good eyes. Mad eyes.”
She set down the fork she'd been using to twist a snail from its shell and grinned.
Footnotes:
“NTR” is a genre abbreviation referring to romantic betrayal or cuckoldry. Sol's Eye is a Korean pine-bud drink.
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