I Became a Genius Engineer That Mega Corporations Are Obsessed With - Chapter 004

WeTried Translations

Translator: [IncomeElastic]

◈ I Became a Genius Engineer That Mega Corporations Are Obsessed With ◈

Chapter 004

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Bigshots and Scrap

Being an engineer in Fupunkalypse cost more to get started than anyone would expect.

[Structure Scan] (-40 Pt), [Prosthetic Adaptation] (-30 Pt), [Circuit Control] (-30 Pt), [Nano Machining] (-50 Pt). Every one of the class-exclusive functions carried an absurdly high point price.

Which was why players generally considered it the worst class to pick at the start, terrible value for the points.

I'd tried building around the class-exclusive functions at first too, but no matter how many times I trimmed and re-trimmed the build with engineer functions, nothing worked.

Piling on flaws to earn points only made the engineer class, already too weak to survive, even harder to survive with.

I'd hunted for functions that would hurt as little as possible as flaws, and when that failed, tried running with the bare minimum, but the results were lousy either way.

Only after sinking a few dozen runs did the realization hit.

As long as you cling to the standard engineer tree, you can't squeeze out any point efficiency.

With that conclusion in hand, and after plenty of agonizing, I'd started hunting for all sorts of obscure magic and psionic functions that could replace the engineer-exclusive ones.

The result was the magitech engineer build now installed in this body.

And the build I'd carved out was earning its keep splendidly, even in this world that had become real.

With no tools at all, just a few strands of mana thread at my fingertips, I'd made tens of thousands of credits a moment ago.

'Knew it. My build wasn't wrong.'

Fingering the thick wad of bills in my pocket, soaking in a quiet sense of pride, right at that very moment-

Bang!

The cardboard stall collapsed with a crash.

"Who the fuck are you? What fucking faction of mage are you from, running a business here?"

This was on a different level from the no-name, piecemeal prosthetics of the customers earlier. A corporate-brand arm with the logo stamped clearly on it, and on top of that a big gang symbol on the right shoulder. A mafia member, no doubt, the kind who squeezed stall fees out of this district's vendors.

But what flashed through my head wasn't fear, more of a revelation.

'...Ah, a mage?'

Only now did the sudden change in attitude from the earlier customers make sense.

They'd watched me work with magic and mistaken me for a mage.

And that let me infer one more thing. Compared to the era of Fupunkalypse I'd played, mages might hold a higher standing in this one than I'd expected.

I sized up the mafia man standing in front of me.

The brand of the prosthetic arm on the guy was a 'Volkov Industries' product. A brand that mainly made mid-to-low-end prosthetics, if anything.

I'd have to look closer to be sure, but the arm seemed to be an old model from the lower end of that lineup.

Which meant the guy was, at the very least, not a bigshot.

Having gotten that far, I first sat up straighter.

As I'd said time and again, in the world of Fupunkalypse you couldn't afford to look weak.

"Faction? Why would I need a faction to do business? If you've got nothing to fix, move. I've got customers to serve."

Holding his gaze without flinching, I spoke in a relaxed tone, as at ease as I could manage. Even with nothing in hand, I had to look like I had something to fall back on.

I could feel him flinch a little at my attitude.

But the guy was still a gang member in charge of this district. With the other vendors' eyes on him, backing down didn't seem to be an option.

After a quick glance around, he suddenly cranked up the intimidation and started leaning on me.

"...You fucking bastard, who the fuck do you think you're mouthing off to?"

Crack!

He swung the arm with the Volkov prosthetic. My cardboard stall, so shoddily put together, went flying across the way without putting up any fight.

By this point, sitting and toughing it out was no longer an option.

As I slowly rose from the crate I'd scavenged from behind the stall, the thug thrust his face in close, veins bulging.

"You know whose turf you're acting tough on? This is Black Dog gang territory, the area big boss Rex the Butcher runs. Don't know that? Huh? If you wanna do business, you pay up. Pay. Up."

He bellowed through bloodshot eyes. His foul breath stabbed at my nose.

No clue how big Black Dog was, or how big Rex the Butcher was, but to a low-level member like this, they were apparently as high as the heavens.

"Some no-name third-rate mage rolls in here and gets cocky? I'm gonna paint your face red today to knock some sense into you, huh?!"

'I'm fucked. Fuck.'

A wry smile burst out inside.

In the world of Fupunkalypse, you had to watch out for bigshots. But that only applied once you'd earned some level of recognition, reputation, or power.

Early on, before you'd properly settled in and while your name still carried no weight, there were far more dangerous things than bigshots.

Low-level thugs with nothing to lose and nothing in their heads, who couldn't tell a good move from a bad one. They were the most dangerous type in the early days of the game.

In the Five-Tier Bigshot Classification, I'd called them "scrap," meaning the lowest and worst of the lot.

Scrap like this was mostly emotional and impulsive, and the unpredictable stunts they pulled had put my characters in danger more times than I could count.

Even if the arm on the scrap in front of me was an old model from a mid-to-low brand, one solid hit would kill me outright, with this wimpy body of mine, zero body arts stat and the worst strength efficiency imaginable.

'Guess there's no helping it...'

Either way, the aim of a low-level member like this was obvious. Collect the stall fee. And right now, on top of that, probably get recognized as a strong man by the vendors around.

Fill those two needs, and I might be able to slip out of this.

'Or else...'

In case of the worst, I got ready to use telekinesis too. With precision telekinesis, there were ways to deal with a low-level member.

I didn't want to use it on a member of the gang running this area, but I had to be prepared just in case.

That was exactly what I was thinking when-

"Hey, Black Dog pup."

From somewhere among the vendors, an alley of sorts, an old man came walking toward us, speaking as he came. With a long exhale, cigarette smoke rolled in on the wind.

An old coat wrapped around his whole body, burn scars covering half his face, thick white hair, and a long, tall frame. A striking old man.

'That guy...'

I remembered. He was the old man who'd stood there a long while, watching me take customers and repair their things, smoking a cigar the whole time. I'd been eyeing him as a potential customer, so I was sure.

"Since when did Black Dog start squeezing stall fees out of my apprentice?"

At the sight of him, the thug's hand, which had been reaching for my collar, slipped quietly down.

"Huh? This kid's your apprentice, sir? Never seen his face before."

Not a trace remained of the thug's earlier swagger in his voice.

"Yeah. Just took him on, so there's no way you'd know. Or what, do I have to report to you lot every time I take a new apprentice?"

The old man tapped the ash off the cigar in his mouth and muttered flatly. His voice was flat, but his gaze felt pretty sharp.

"N-no, sir! It was a misunderstanding! I just hadn't seen him before...!"

"What? You think saying sorry to me is enough? You wrecked my apprentice's stall. You apologize to my apprentice."

At that, the thug's face went dead white.

"I-I'm sorry! I didn't know he was your apprentice...!"

The thug who'd apologized pulled something from his pocket and placed it in my hand. Twenty thousand credits in bills.

'What the hell is this?'

It was 5,000 credits more than I'd been paid for fixing those three customers' gear earlier.

"This is a token of apology. Please forgive me, sir!"

Was this really the guy who'd been raging a moment ago about painting my face red? He'd turned so polite that after apologizing to me, he scrambled off to the far side of the night market.

Silence fell in an instant. The vendors around held their breath, watching the old man's face.

'Is he someone this body knew?'

I slowly turned it over in my head, but he was no one in Seol Gye-hyeon's memories either.

Whether or not he could read my mind, the old man took his time drawing near the wrecked cardboard stall, still smoking his cigar.

"...Thank you for helping me."

The old man said nothing, just started looking over my face and body. It wasn't an unpleasant look, but it still made me a little uneasy.

"Do you know me, by any chance?"

He wasn't in Seol Gye-hyeon's memories, but I asked anyway.

"No. First time meeting you."

The answer was not what I'd expected.

"Then why did you help me?"

"Told you. Helped you because you're my apprentice."