91-95

Chapter 91: Can I Touch It? 

“Hey, Vic, can these two still be used?” 

In Old Vic’s cyberdoc clinic, Riku plopped two spinal implants onto the table.  

“Whoa, talk about a yabai extraction method.”  

Vic strolled over, eyeing them with surprise. The blood-smeared implants looked fresh as hell.  

He didn’t ask where they came from—professional courtesy. It’s how he’d kept his shop running all these years.  

Clients don’t spill, he doesn’t pry. Some even try to overshare, and he’ll shut that down quick.  

He’s long retired from the street life, just wanting to be a quiet cyberdoc, no trouble.  

“No choice, Vic. None of us have your skills. It was an emergency, so we went full gorigori,” V said, shrugging helplessly. She’d been as careful as she could—those were eddies on the line!  

“They’re good. Main parts are intact. Fix ’em up, and they’re usable.”  

Vic gave them a quick once-over, delivering an answer that made V grin ear to ear.  

“Whose make? What model? How much can we get for ’em?”  

V’s reflex was to appraise the loot, even if they weren’t selling. Gotta know the value.  

“Zetatech, Type 3. Their Type 1 and 2 are for the masses, but Type 3? Black market, you’re looking at tens of thousands of eddies. Regular folks can’t afford this.”  

Vic said it casually. With enough cash, the black market had everything.  

Type 3 outperformed the lower models by a mile—straight-up military-grade.  

That said, Zetatech’s Sandevistan tech couldn’t touch the big dogs like Militech.  

Compared to Dynalar’s cyberoptics specialty, Zetatech’s stuff was decent but not top-tier. Their drone line was their real ace; everything else was broad but not refined.  

“Sugee, not bad!”  

V nodded. No surprise—gear stripped from a corpo dog agent was bound to be her priciest “junk” yet.  

“This Kerenzikov’s kinda low-end, though. I’ll take it off your hands for 6,000. Fixing and reselling it won’t make much profit.”  

Vic picked up the Kerenzikov, giving a fair quote. Only a cyberdoc like him could move this stuff.  

“Deal.”  

The trio had no objections. Vic wasn’t the type to rip them off.  

“Vic, can you check my subdermal armor? Think it’s fixable?”  

Riku hopped onto the surgical table, confident Vic could work his magic.  

“Let’s see.”  

Vic started the table’s scanners, analyzing Riku’s body.  

“You—”  

He stopped short, spotting the clean cut through the subdermal armor at Riku’s neck. What the hell sliced his head clean off?!  

“Just a little scratch. No biggie.”  

Riku brushed it off calmly. He knew he couldn’t hide much from Vic, who probably knew his body better than anyone.  

Cough, cough!  

V and Jack nearly choked. A little scratch?! His head got yeeted, dude!  

But thinking about how Riku just screwed his head back on and kept going… maybe it was just a scratch?  

“…”  

Vic stayed silent, his mind reeling. What kind of monster is this guy?!  

Riku’s body data had spiked since his last visit—his growth rate was straight-up buzama.  

Vic could only imagine the crazy karma tied to a bio-modded freak like this. Just thinking about it gave him a headache.  

“Fixed. Small issue, no charge.”  

While musing, Vic’s hands moved fast, patching the clean cut with ease. No sweat for him.  

“Thanks, Vic!”  

Riku sighed in relief. Good thing it was fixable—saved him a fortune.  

Otherwise, he’d be rocking a scarf in broad daylight to hide the damage.  

“What’s the plan for this Sandevistan? Keeping it or selling?”  

Vic picked up the Sandevistan, cleaning it before starting repairs, tossing the question out as he worked.  

“Riku, you want it?”  

V glanced at him. He’d soloed that corpo dog, so he got first dibs.  

“Nah, I’m good. My mods are minimal—can’t handle that thing.”  

Jack waved it off. He was old-school: just enough mods to get by, relying on raw muscle and sharpshooting.  

“I’ll take it.”  

Riku didn’t hesitate. He’d been eyeing a Sandevistan forever.  

With a bag full of Kenryū’s cutting-edge blades and now a decent Sandevistan, his combat power was about to level up—cho kakkoii.  

“Come back tomorrow. I’ll pull an all-nighter to get this baby fixed.”  

Vic nodded, diving into his work. Looked like a rare late night for him.  

“Don’t overdo it, Vic. And don’t install it backward tomorrow.”  

Riku teased with a grin, earning a middle finger and a “I ain’t that old” from Vic.  

The trio said their goodbyes and piled into the Thorton. The vibe in the car was quiet.  

“Got questions?”  

Riku leaned back in the rear seat, knowing V and Jack were dying to ask.  

“Can you talk about it? Or is it off-limits?”  

V turned from the passenger seat, eyes sparkling with curiosity. She was all in to hear this.  

“You wouldn’t get it even if I explained. Just stresses you out.”  

Riku threw up his hands like a little bear. Even he couldn’t fully explain how some of his powers worked.  

“Then just tell us what you can do.”  

Jack cut in. No need to overthink the unexplainable.  

“As you’ve seen, I’ve got crazy vitality. Head chopped off? No problem. And this—you can think of it as some bio-tech construct.”  

Riku summoned his Kage Ookami. The shadow wolf materialized in the car, curling up in the back. Good thing the Thorton had space, or this beast wouldn’t fit.  

“Sugee… can I touch it?”  

V’s eyes lit up at the majestic Kage Ookami. Its look was straight-up kakkoii.  

“Go for it. It’s tame—won’t bite.”  

Riku chuckled, petting the wolf. V followed suit, stroking it with a satisfied grin.  

“Too cool.”  

Jack whistled. They didn’t get it, but that didn’t matter.  

Everyone in Night City’s got a story. Riku’s was just a bit more hen than most.  

The Time-Stopping Sword Saint takes his first step!  

Chapter 92: Launch Speech 

I wasn’t planning to post this, honestly. I didn’t have anything special prepped, but let’s follow tradition and drop a quick note. First up, the gratitude arc! 

A huge arigatou to all you readers for your support and comments. You’re the ones making this book shine brighter! The main plot hasn’t shifted much, but your feedback has helped me patch up a ton of small issues. When I’m writing at full speed, slip-ups in word choice or phrasing are bound to happen—it’s just part of the grind. I’m totally cool with constructive criticism, so keep it coming. 

Next up, the pity-party arc. Yeah, I’ll skip the sob story. You’re here to read and have a good time—that’s what matters most. If you’re enjoying it, keep flipping those pages! 

Not much else to say. I’m just gonna humbly ask for your first subscriptions. That stuff directly impacts the book’s future recommendations, so it’s a big deal. 

Please, my fellow fans, lend me your strength! 

Chapter 93: Skill Master 

“Riku, if you need our help, just say so. Don’t go dying out there one day.” 

At the door of Riku’s tiny apartment, V spoke up suddenly, her usual carefree grin replaced by a rare serious look. 

She knew Riku was tangled up in some serious yabai (dangerous) trouble—stuff way above her and Jack’s pay grade. 

“What, me? Die? My head came off, and I’m still kicking. You’re worried about me?” 

Riku shot her a look like she’d just told the punchline to a bad shonen gag, making V’s lips twitch in annoyance. 

“You don’t wanna hear the nice version, huh? Fine, here’s hoping you get your own urn in Yoru no Machi’s (Night City’s) cemetery real soon.” 

V flipped him the bird, rolled her eyes, and stormed back to her room. 

“Make sure you grab a spot next to mine—we’ll be neighbors!” Riku shouted after her. 

V’s middle finger popped out from behind her door one last time before she slammed it shut. 

Riku chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped into his apartment. V pulling this serious act out of nowhere? Probably spooked by his head-reconnecting jutsu (technique) earlier. 

Tonight’s chaos was bound to have hit V, Jack Wells, and even old Vic hard. In this era, weird tech was par for the course, but Riku’s head-popping, body-moving stunt was next-level yabai. 

“They’ll get used to it. Plenty more surprises where that came from,” Riku muttered. 

He reached into his pocket, pulling out the pair of cyber-eyes he’d scavenged from that black-clad ninja.  

The eyes were fully nikkaku-ka (flesh-activated) by now, and he’d gained their abilities. They worked just like his own eyes—he could see whatever they saw. 

“This is kinda weird,” Riku admitted, not quite used to it. Holding the cyber-eyes, he glanced around, the sensation totally shinpi (mysterious). 

The eye on his forehead? He’d adapted to that ages ago. It was just a slightly higher perspective, no big deal. But these cyber-eyes? Totally different. Holding them in his hands and pointing them in all directions gave him a wild range of viewpoints. 

Riku stood still, staring forward, while his hands moved the eyes around—up, down, left, right. It was like standing and staring ahead while simultaneously crouching, lying flat, looking up, or twisting his head in every direction. 

“Pretty sugoi (awesome). If I nikkaku-ka a few more of these, forget rokuro kansatsu (six-way vision)—I’d have sixteen-way vision, no problem.” 

He played around with the eyes until he nearly made himself dizzy. The extra perspectives took some getting used to. 

Beyond that, he could absorb the cyber-eyes into his body, letting them sprout from other spots. Not super useful right now—his subdermal armor blocked them from popping out. That armor was too valuable to ditch, but maybe Vic could tweak it, like adding a retractable slot at the back of his head for some ushiro no me (rear-mounted eyes) action at night. 

“Could be handy for scouting dangerous spots,” Riku mused. He could store the eyes in his body, then toss them out to scope the area—like sticking wards in the grass, League of Legends-style. With some upgrades, maybe the eyes could even sprout little wings and fly around, saving him the cost of a recon drone. 

Done experimenting, Riku set the eyes aside and pulled out the ninja’s neural interface, also fully nikkaku-ka.  

Even outside his body, it worked like an external brain chip. The chip inside belonged to the ninja, and Riku had already read its contents. 

The chip’s owner? Toshin Jell, a Kenritsu Group agent. Now deceased, account canceled, eddies untouchable. Damn corpo dogs moved fast. 

But the chip was special—a samurai chip loaded with a full set of kenjutsu (sword techniques). Plug it in, and you’d instantly become a ninja skilled in that style. A proper skill chip. 

“No way! It’s a sokusei (instant-learn) chip?!” Riku groaned, rolling his eyes. He thought the guy was a legit ninja, not some fast-food, chip-powered wannabe. 

This meant Kenritsu could churn out ninja agents by the dozen—just slap a chip and some cyberware on anyone. 

“That red-armored samurai was sokusei too,” Riku realized. Thinking back to the ad-star samurai, their kenjutsu was practically identical to this chip’s. 

He drew his katana, struck a pose, and ran through the chip’s sword techniques. 

Guided by the chip, Riku—despite never training in this style—executed it flawlessly, every move smooth as silk. 

But it felt hollow. He had the form but not the soul, like he was just following a script—too rigid, too mechanical. 

If a real kenjutsu master fought a chip-user with similar stats, the master would wipe the floor with them. Skill chips were just pre-programmed moves. 

Still, letting someone who’d never touched a sword master a complex kenjutsu style in seconds? That was cho kakkoi (super cool). The chip let you skip the basics and hit a decent level instantly. But to keep it and improve? That took real practice. 

The red-armored samurai and black-clad ninja wielded the kenjutsu with way more finesse than Riku’s stiff demo. They’d clearly trained beyond the chip. 

Riku popped the chip out. Since it was part of the nikkaku-ka neural interface, it had transformed from an electronic chip to a bio-flesh chip, far more active than a RELIC chip and with no storage issues. 

But nikkaku-ka didn’t let him master the chip’s contents outright—he still needed to plug it into a neural interface to access it. 

The neural interface was the reader, converting brain signals to electronic ones and back for data transfer and control. The chip was the hard drive, storing the OS, software, and data. The brain was the processor, handling input, processing, and output. Together, they formed a complete system. 

“If I nikkaku-ka a few more neural interfaces and slot different skill chips into each, I’d be a sukiru-daruma (skill master), right?” Riku’s eyes lit up at the idea. 

Problem was, while neural interfaces were dirt cheap, skill chips were rare. Kung-fu chips like the Kui-Arm series were pricey but buyable. Most skill chips—and training chips—were tightly controlled by megacorps. Regular folks couldn’t touch them. 

Take Militech’s training chips—top-secret stuff. In this world, even a newbie tutorial wasn’t something just anyone could access. 

Making your own skill chips? Not easy. Not everyone was a genius like Judy Alvarez. 

“Speaking of, what’s Judy up to these days?” Riku’s eyes sparked. Maybe he could hit up Judy to help craft some skill chips. 

Gonna try my best tonight! 

Chapter 94: The Importance of Constitution 

“Judy? You mean that Judy Alvarez, the genius braindance creator?” 

The next day, when Riku and V mentioned Judy to Jack Welles, Jack asked with a hint of surprise. 

It was no wonder—Judy wasn’t exactly a nobody in Night City. As the most dazzling braindance (burandansu) creator in the last couple of years, her name carried weight. 

“We probably can’t afford her. She’s a big deal, you know.” 

V shrugged. Rumor had it that Judy-san had quite the personality, turning down offers from major production companies left and right. 

“And why are you suddenly looking for her? Planning to switch careers and debut as a braindance star or something?” 

V gave Riku a suspicious look, sizing him up before continuing with a grin, “You’d make a killer villain, though. The kind who could beat the shujinkō (protagonist) to a pulp. Totally sugoi (awesome).” 

She gave him a thumbs-up, her skeptical expression morphing into approval. 

“Get outta here. I just want to make some skill chips,” Riku said, waving off V’s teasing with a mock-annoyed gesture. 

“Then you should be looking for a tech expert. Is Judy-san good at that too?” Jack asked, clearly puzzled. They didn’t know much about Judy Alvarez beyond her reputation. 

In truth, aside from being a prodigy at braindance editing, Judy was also a highly skilled tech expert (gijutsu senmonka). The combat chips she crafted could give even a doll decent fighting ability. If she sold them commercially, they’d probably rival the Kue Arm series in popularity. 

“Tech expert, huh…” Riku muttered, his mind drifting to a pair of large hands. Didn’t Pila from Mann’s crew fit the bill as a tech expert? 

Compared to the famous and headstrong Judy Alvarez, Pila—who they could connect with through Sasha—seemed like an easier contact. 

“Let’s install the Sandevistan first, then ask Sasha about it,” Riku decided. 

The trio joked and chatted as they made their way to Misty’s Esoterica. 

Jack stayed upstairs, chatting with Misty. Those two were getting closer by the day, their bond growing stronger. 

Riku and V both knew Jack had just broken up with a girl not long ago—Camilla, was it? Mrs. Welles adored her, but she and Jack weren’t a good match. They didn’t last long. 

Compared to Camilla, Misty—the girl who grew up on the same street as Jack—was the one who truly had a place in his heart. 

Riku and V headed into Vik’s ripperdoc clinic. Vik was already waiting, having been tipped off about their visit. 

“It’s fixed. Let’s get started,” Vik said, motioning for Riku to lie on the operating table, Sandevistan in hand, ready to install. 

“You sure you’re good, Vik? Don’t break Riku, now,” V teased from the side. This time, she didn’t have to look away since Riku only had to take off his upper clothes. 

“Don’t worry. My hands are so steady, ten bulls couldn’t pull ‘em off course,” Vik replied with a chuckle, getting to work without bothering to ask about anesthesia. 

Riku lay on the table, his body secured. It had to be—replacing a spine wasn’t exactly a casual procedure. 

V watched for a bit but soon stepped out. She couldn’t handle watching the process—it looked too painful. She couldn’t imagine how Riku endured it. 

She’d also booked a cyberware implant with Vik. The flesh was weak! She wanted to make herself stronger, or at least useful enough to keep up. 

V’s sense of inadequacy wasn’t entirely fair to herself. Compared to most street kids, she already had solid skills and marksmanship. Those alone had let her scrape by in Night City, taking small gigs in Heywood. 

But after working a job with Riku and Jack, the gigs she was getting now were on a whole different level. The small-time jobs paying a few hundred or a thousand eddies? She barely glanced at them anymore. Even jobs paying three or four grand were starting to feel beneath her—unless it was something like taking out scavs, she wouldn’t bother. 

As her horizons expanded and the difficulty of their jobs increased, so did the strength of their enemies. It was only natural that her current skills, weapons, and body were struggling to keep up. 

This wasn’t the kind of work she was supposed to be doing yet. She should’ve had a couple more years to grind and grow, but Riku’s arrival had fast-tracked everything. Now, she was taking on challenges way above her level. 

Back in the clinic, Vik finally stopped working and began cleaning up. He’d finished installing the Sandevistan. 

On top of that, at Riku’s request, he’d added a new feature to the subdermal armor at the back of his neck, allowing it to retract like the armor in his hands. 

“How’s it feel? Any issues?” Vik asked while wiping away blood, more out of habit than necessity. He knew there wouldn’t be any problems. 

Riku’s body was absurdly adaptable—no cyberware rejection, no complications. It was almost incomprehensible. 

“Feels sugoi,” Riku said, moving his body to test it out. He activated the Sandevistan, and a strange sensation washed over him. Everything around him seemed to slow down. 

It was like bullet time in The Matrix—the world played in slow motion before his eyes. 

Physically, the Sandevistan was stimulating his cells and nerves, making him faster, stronger, and heightening his perception. 

“No wonder regular people can’t handle this thing,” Riku remarked. “This kind of stimulation? A normal person’s cells and nerves would burn out after a few uses.” 

He could tell it took a toll on the body. The stronger your constitution (taishitsu), the better you could handle the Sandevistan’s effects. 

As expected, Riku was confident that with the same Sandevistan, he’d outperform that black-clad ninja (kuroi shinobi) from before. 

“You and this thing are practically made for each other,” Vik said with a sigh. With Riku’s cellular vitality, the Sandevistan’s strain was negligible. 

The only thing holding Riku back was the Sandevistan’s own performance and durability. If overused, even the hardware could break! 

While others worried about the Sandevistan wrecking their bodies, Riku had to worry about not wrecking the Sandevistan. 

“Thanks, Vik,” Riku said, giving him a thumbs-up. Without hesitation, he used his flesh-activation ability on the Sandevistan. 

Worried about breaking it? If it got damaged, he’d just repair it with his flesh-regeneration powers. As long as it didn’t exceed his regeneration limits, he was golden. 

This was where constitution (taishitsu) really shone. Flesh bullets, repairing weapons, or fixing damage from the Sandevistan—it all depended on his physical resilience. 

“Call V in,” Vik said, waving a hand. Installing Riku’s Sandevistan was free, aside from repair costs. V’s implant was the big job. 

Riku put his clothes back on and stepped outside to find V waiting. 

“Done?” V asked, looking eager, like she was ready to embrace a new chapter. 

“Yup, your turn,” Riku said, tilting his head toward the clinic. 

V didn’t hesitate, striding in with an expression like she was about to start a new adventure (bōken). 

“Neko-neko lady, what’s up? Got time?” Riku chuckled, shaking his head as he walked out, messaging Sasha about consulting Pila on skill chips. 

“Got time. What’s up, Devil?” Sasha replied quickly, tossing in a curious emoji. 

“Wanna talk to Pila about something. Can you hook me up?” Riku got straight to the point. If possible, he’d love to learn some tech expert (gijutsu senmonka) skills himself. 

A skill chip for “tech expert” techniques would be even better. Riku didn’t mind a shortcut—he had plenty of time to practice. 

With those skills, even scavenging would be easier. Tech experts were pros at turning trash into treasure. 

“No prob, I’ll reach out to Pila!” Sasha shot back instantly, though she was a tad disappointed. She’d hoped he was messaging her for, well, her. 

Chapter 95: I Reckon This Thing’ll Work! 

Pira chose a meeting spot in the North Industrial District of Night City, right where he lived.  

Riku, cruising in his sleek Seresu (a nod to those flashy mecha rides in anime), circled around before finding the place. Man, this spot was way out there—practically on the edge of Night City.  

Or rather, it was the edge. Riku could already see the endless, desolate akutō (badlands) stretching out like some post-apocalyptic wasteland from a shōnen anime. 

Pira’s place was a run-down three-story building. It looked like it had seen better days, but in a place like this, keeping anything shiny and new was a tall order.  

And, yup, stepping inside confirmed it: even more beat-up. This place had history, like a forgotten set from a gritty seinen cyberpunk series. 

Knock, knock, knock. 

Riku rapped on the door. His nose picked up the scents of three people inside—one of them familiar. That’d be Sasha. 

The door creaked open, and a pistol poked out first. The one holding it? A pint-sized girl with some serious tsundere energy. 

“Hey, Rebecca,” Riku greeted with a casual wave. Gotta respect the North Industrial District vibe—gun out, even in broad daylight. 

“Devil? Come on in,” Rebecca said, glancing up. She lowered the gun and stepped aside. 

Riku strolled into the small apartment. Compared to the sterile, high-tech apartments in the chō-matenrō (super skyscraper) H10, this place had way more jinsei no aji—the flavor of life.  

By that, I mean it was kinda rundown, like a lived-in hideout straight out of a mecha crew’s base. Not cold and clinical like some seikatsu-sō (life-support pod) vibe. 

“Yo, Devil!” Sasha, lounging on the couch, gave a cheerful wave, her smile as bright as a shōjo heroine’s. 

“Finally here, huh? So, what kinda sukiru chippu are you making?” Pira’s head popped out from a side room, his eyes sparkling with curiosity, like a tech-obsessed otaku in a cyberpunk anime. 

Riku shot Sasha an apologetic look, but she just shrugged with a grin, clearly used to Pira’s genki antics. 

“Pira, you can make sukiru chippu?” Riku asked, picking up on Pira’s confidence. 

“Hell yeah! There’s nothing Pira-sama can’t do. Just tell me what skill you want!” Pira declared, throwing up a big thumbs-up, striking a pose like he was the protagonist of a shōnen tech saga. 

“Breathing,” Riku said with a smirk. 

“Huh?!” Pira’s head whipped toward Riku, his face screaming, “Are you kidding me?” in classic over-the-top anime fashion. 

“Yup, breathing,” Riku repeated, dead serious now, making Pira realize this wasn’t a prank. 

“Breathing? What’s the point? There are already chips for that!” Pira’s confusion was palpable. There were breathing skill chips out there—specialized ones for people with medical conditions. In Night City, if there’s a need, someone’s selling it, no matter how niche or hen (weird). 

“Not that kind of breathing. Check out my breathing,” Riku said, shaking his head. He amped up his kokyū-hō (breathing technique), making it more pronounced, like a character powering up in a climactic shōnen battle. 

Pira blinked. “Uh…” Honestly, all he could tell was that Riku was sucking in air like a vacuum cleaner. What was so special about this kokyū? 

“No good?” Riku raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with playful doubt. Was this the so-called “all-knowing” Pira-sama? 

The jab hit home. Pira’s pride flared up like a mecha pilot facing a rival. “Of course it’s good!” he barked, clenching a fist. He’d just bragged about his skills—no way he’d back down now and slap his own face. 

Without another word, Pira grabbed Riku and dragged him into the back room. The place was a chaotic mess of kikai (machinery) and janku (scrap)—bolts and nuts scattered on the floor, shelves crammed with what looked like useless junk to Riku.  

“These are my āto (artworks),” Pira said, spreading his arms wide and taking a deep, dramatic breath, like he was inhaling the essence of his creations. Total otaku vibes. 

“Uh…” Riku didn’t get it. Did this mean he lacked the tensai (genius) to be a street tech expert? Was he missing the ability to see beauty in scrap metal? 

“Hang on, let me grab some dōgu (tools),” Pira said. After a few more whiffs of his “artistic” air, he dove into the pile of junk, wielding a screwdriver, wrench, and welding torch. 

Bang! Bang! Bang! 

Zzzzt! Zzzzt! 

Sparks flew like a mecha repair scene. In no time, Pira whipped out a piece of “gear.” 

“Here, put this on. Let’s see what’s so special about your kokyū,” Pira said, handing Riku what looked like a clunky tetsujin (iron man) vest, wired to a pair of hippu happu (hip-hop) goggles. Pira was already rocking the goggles, looking like a tech-savvy delinquent from an anime. 

Riku stared, dumbfounded, as he took the vest. He hadn’t even blinked—how the hell did Pira make this thing? Tech experts were sugoi (terrifyingly awesome)! Was this the power of ore-shisō (I-reckon-it’ll-work) ingenuity? 

Riku slipped on the tetsujin vest, his admiration for Pira’s skills growing. Sure, he didn’t get the “art” of scrap metal, but turning junk into high-tech gear? That was kakkoii (cool as hell)! 

“Hmm, there’s definitely something here,” Pira said, getting serious as Riku activated his kokyū-hō while wearing the vest. Pira adjusted his hippu happu goggles, looking like a mad scientist in a mecha anime. 

“You see it?” Riku asked, barely holding back a smirk. Those goofy goggles didn’t exactly scream “reliable.” 

“I see it. This is… kinda sugoi,” Pira said, yanking off the goggles, his eyes wide with awe. He finally got how tokubetsu (special) Riku’s breathing was. 

“Hold up,” Pira said, diving back into his junk pile. More sparks, more banging, and soon he’d cobbled together another contraption.  

“Stick these on your body, and this on your head,” Pira instructed, handing Riku a set of devices—his custom chō-mu (super-dream) recording rig. 

“Attach this, slot in the chip, add this, hit start, toss in a bit of this, and we’re recording,” Pira muttered, his hands a blur. To Riku, it sounded like Pira was chanting, “Ore-shisō, kono yarō kō naru!” (I reckon this’ll work!) over and over. 

“Alright, breathe. Don’t stop,” Pira commanded, already in full recording mode, his efficiency as sharp as a samurai’s katana. 

Haaa… 

Riku kept his kokyū-hō flowing, adjusting his rhythm to make it easier for Pira to capture, like a character syncing their energy for a ki attack. 

“Good, good!” Pira nodded, back in his hippu happu goggles, tapping his foot like a hyped-up DJ. He was chasing that kanji (feeling)—the key to a sukiru chippu was guiding the body’s movements. 

Here’s the deal: a sukiru chippu doesn’t need your brain to know the skill. It just needs your body to move when it’s supposed to. Like, say you wanna punch someone. The chip reads your brain’s signal and makes your fist swing, but it’s a whole different set of motions than what you’re used to. Your brain and body might not know the moves, but with the chip, it’s like you’ve practiced them a thousand times. 

This breathing was the same. Pira didn’t need to understand the kokyū-hō’s principles—he just needed to record the brain signals that made the body move. 

“Done!” Pira shouted, kicking his chair to spin back to his console, like a mecha pilot sliding into the cockpit. 

After some tweaks and fine-tuning, he’d captured the breathing’s brain signals.  

“Might not be as good as the original—maybe 70% of the effect. My gear’s kinda boroi (shabby), so bear with me,” Pira said, tweaking parameters on a screen full of code that only a tech otaku could love. 

Riku peeled off the janky gear, certain that big corpos didn’t use this kind of gizagiza (rough) setup for their sukiru chippu production. But it didn’t matter what tools you used—only that it worked. 

Pira tossed Riku the finished chip: the Mizu no Kokyū (Water Breathing) sukiru chippu, done just like that, even if it was only 70% as effective as Riku’s original technique.