Finally, it was happening.
Lin Mo's heart surged with excitement like a storm unleashed. After years in this world, his patience was finally paying off.
At the same time, the simulation's rewards rolled in.
His retinal HUD flashed: [+40 eurodollars] added to his account. Meanwhile, fresh memories surged into his brain — the layout for tomorrow night's event: time, location, the woman's face, even her initial escape route.
Every simulation delivered something. A payout. A fragment of foresight. A strategic edge.
Compared to those trashy games that promised "dragon-slaying swords" and didn't even deliver pixels, this simulator? This one meant business.
His Newbie Pack sat unclaimed in the [Database]. He hadn't touched it — after all, what use were a katana or crafting blueprints to a kid still stuck in a child-sized body?
"If only it gave me some attribute points too..." Lin Mo muttered, staring at his character panel.
Current Attributes:
Body: 2 (3)
Reflexes: 4
Technical Ability: 3
Intelligence: 3
Cool: 4
Due to his underdeveloped physique, his Body stat was stuck below par. The rest? All hovering in normal human territory.
But Lin Mo knew these stats like the back of his hand — straight from Cyberpunk 2077.
Body: Strength, stamina, resilience
Reflexes: Speed, agility, reaction time
Technical: Tech mastery, engineering, hardware
Intelligence: Logic, hacking, data crunching
Cool: Willpower, stealth, composure
He'd read the devbook cover to cover back then.
3–4: Average
5–6: Gifted
7–8: World-class
9–10: Human peak
11+: Superhuman — mythic-tier
20: Theoretical max with full chrome
He still remembered: even the game's final boss, Adam Smasher, capped out at Body 18.
The only exception? V. A fully leveled V could hit 20 in three attributes — basically a demigod.
Which meant yeah — Smasher really was a soft-ass boss.
Looking at his own stats now, he was still a normie.
But the future?
Wide open.
"I've been running simulations every day and still no bonus stat points?"
Aside from the 3 from the Newbie Pack, nothing.
No eddies. No stats. Just scraps.
Maybe… it was tied to combat.
So far, he'd never simulated a real fight.
"Whatever. Time to use those three points."
He'd saved them for a moment like this.
After weighing the options, he dumped all 3 into Reflexes.
No point spreading them thin. Specializing had better returns. And tonight? There'd be running, dodging, chasing — no question.
The simulator might predict the future, but it couldn't guarantee it. You didn't gamble your life on maybes.
He wasn't about to let some scav rip his kidneys out again.
And there was still David, his classmate at Arasaka Academy. That whole subplot reeked of some hidden DLC.
[Reflexes: 7]
World-class.
The moment he removed the headset, the change was obvious.
The alleyway sharpened. His field of vision lit up like a new OS install.
He could see the neon streets beyond, the music pulsing like blood. The crowd blurred past, yet he could spot every face, every outfit, even the weight and placement of holstered weapons.
If he wanted to?
He could jack one clean without blinking.
"Three points and I'm already seeing bullet time. What's it like at 20 — god mode?"
For the first time, he craved more stats.
Time passed.
Jig-Jig Street lit up again that night, pulsing like a cybernetic artery.
The crowd surged in all directions. Neon signs glowed like sirens. Glass storefronts teased private scenes inside. Music boomed like it had claws, tearing into your chest and dragging the beat through your veins.
A nearby pachinko parlor overflowed with patrons.
The chimes and clacks of metal balls echoed like sirens. Players hunched at every machine. Cries of joy and despair overlapped. Faces contorted between bliss and madness.
Classic Night City.
A middle-aged Tiger Claws enforcer with teal-dyed hair glared at the woman next to him.
She wore a sleek orange-and-black corpo uniform. Hair tied tight. Face serene.
Her screen? Lit up like a jackpot.
His? Flashing nonstop: すみません — "Sorry."
He wanted to punch it.
"Tough break, huh, old man?" the woman said, smirking.
"Baka yarou," he grunted.
"Luck's a bitch. Go home while you've still got pants on."
She scooped up her winnings and stood.
"Here — take my seat. Maybe you'll win back enough to afford underwear."
She left.
His face twisted with hate.
Then he stood and walked into the back room.
There, a teapot steamed gently.
An elderly woman in a simple kimono — Wakako Okada — sat at the table, calmly arranging teacups.
"I want an explanation. Otherwise, you're out of the gang tomorrow."
She didn't even look up.
The man dropped to his knees.
"Wakako-san, I want info on that Kang Tao corpo."
"500 eddies. And 1000 for barging in. Tea's not cheap."
She poured him a cup.
He bowed, drank it without flinching, and transferred the funds.
"Xu Wanxue. Deputy Chief of Smart Weapons R&D at Kang Tao. New in town. Hangs out on Jig-Jig Street most nights. Not into BDs. Loves gambling. Shows up here around 10 PM.
Weapon: A-22B Chao.
Car: Gudra V-Tech.
That's all. If you're planning something, keep it clean."
She sipped her tea.
"And remember — she's not just some contractor. Real Kang Tao exec. Covered by Trauma Team Gold. Screw it up, and you're a corpse."
"I just want to teach her a lesson."
He stood and left.
Outside, he gave a quiet order. His subordinate grabbed a katana and rallied the crew.
In this turf, the Tiger Claws ruled.
BD parlors, gambling dens, sex clubs — all theirs.
And some corpo bitch had disrespected him? No guards? No fear?
She was going to learn.
He sat back at his pachinko machine, hit the lever.
He didn't need to lift a finger.
Not for trash like her.
His boys would bring him the answer.
P.S.
The attribute standards mentioned here are based on our world, not Cyberpunk's. According to design materials, Einstein's Intelligence would be a 10.
So 7–8 means elite — top-tier scientists, world-class athletes, etc.
Also: Intelligence isn't IQ. Everyone has different strengths. Saburo Arasaka, for example, is rated Intelligence 10 — but he's not doing equations with Einstein.
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