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🕑 Added 2025-06-22 16:26:37 +0000 UTCChapter 101: If You Can Win with Hamon, Use It; If Not, Run Like Hell
"Let’s see who burns out first!"
The Trauma Team assault operative grinned, his teeth bared in a crazed smile. He was laughing at this tiny cyberpsycho who dared to talk big.
In battles like these, he’d never lost. These cyberpsychos always thought they were special, blessed with some unique edge, but in reality, they were just big fish in a small pond.
They’d somehow get their hands on a military-grade Sandevistan and think they could dominate Night City, becoming the king of the urban jungle. People like that popped up all the time in Night City.
And their endings? Usually pathetic. Most didn’t even make a splash before fading away like shooting stars, not even worth mentioning over a cup of ramen after a long night.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The sound of metal clashing echoed as Riku, our protagonist, squared off against the Trauma Team assault operative. Their figures darted left and right, the fiery glow of a thermal katana clashing against the crystalline edge of a power sword, sparks flying with every strike.
The other three Trauma Team members stood by, casually watching the show like they were at a kabuki performance.
"Take this guy alive. Recruit him," one of them said, eyeing Riku’s skills. This cyberpsycho wasn’t half bad—maybe he’d make a good addition to their squad.
"No can do. Biotech wants him dead," another shot back, already aiming his gun at Riku, ready to fire a fatal shot at any moment.
"There’s something off about this guy. He’s got serious research value," chimed in the team’s netrunner, a hacker with a sharp edge. She’d already fried Riku’s cybernetic eye, wrecking its system so it wouldn’t reboot, but her other attempts to hack him had sunk like a stone in the Pacific Ocean.
This made her realize this cyberpsycho was no ordinary ronin. There was something special about him—something worth studying. At the very least, she needed to figure out why her hacks weren’t working.
Her cyberdeck was top-tier, loaded with external drives, RAM managers, and the latest cyberware. Even the slickest netrunners couldn’t make her daemons vanish without a trace like that.
"You sure?" the gunman asked, lowering his weapon slightly and glancing at the netrunner for confirmation.
"Absolutely," she replied with a nod, her voice brimming with confidence. She trusted her skills—she never made mistakes.
This guy didn’t know the first thing about hacking. When she hit his cyber-eye, he had zero defenses, going dark in an instant. But his chip and Sandevistan? She couldn’t even touch them. That wasn’t normal—not by a long shot.
"Dran! Take him alive!" the gunman shouted, worried that the assault operative, Dran, might slice Riku to ribbons.
" Hear that? Your nakama are getting impatient! They think you can take me down quick, maybe even capture me alive. But it looks like you’re struggling, huh? Your body holding up okay?" Riku taunted, his voice dripping with shonen-style bravado.
He was going all out, dodging with everything he had. Overloading his cyberware wasn’t an issue for him—his Sandevistan whined under the strain, screaming in protest before repairing itself.
"Go to hell!" Riku’s words hit a nerve. Dran’s eyes burned red as he pushed his Sandevistan to the limit.
He pressed Riku relentlessly, ignoring his teammates’ orders. His mind was empty of everything except one thought: cut this bastard down.
Riku sensed it. His constant verbal jabs and provocations had pushed the Trauma Team operative into a rage—a perfect berserk mode, just like he wanted.
If they fought by the book, Dran would eventually burn out. Human bodies have limits, and so does cyberware. This guy couldn’t outlast Riku’s stamina.
But these yakuza-like Trauma Team goons wouldn’t give him the chance to drag it out. Riku needed to enrage Dran, push him to trade blows in a reckless, life-or-death clash.
So far, Riku’s plan was working like a charm. His nonstop trash-talk had sent Dran into a fury state, completely unhinged.
Dran didn’t care about cyberware overload anymore. Every piece of tech in his body was running at max capacity, giving him unnatural strength. Each swing of his blade felt like it could cleave Riku in two.
The quality gap wasn’t something a simple overload could bridge. Even with Riku pushing his Sandevistan to the point of smoking, it wasn’t enough to close the distance—especially now that Dran was fighting like a demon.
Slash!
No point worrying about his subdermal armor now. Dran’s power sword cut through it like a sushi knife through fish, slicing deep into Riku’s body, wounds reaching bone. Riku gritted his teeth, pain searing his mind. Can I even repair this?
"Damn it! You better give me a ton of XP for this!" Riku cursed, throwing caution to the wind. He wanted to see if this Trauma Team lunatic was truly fearless. No more defending—let’s see who drops first!
Sometimes, his cyberware felt like a burden. The subdermal armor meant to protect him had become something he had to protect.
"Something’s wrong! Call for backup! Dran’s losing it!" one of the Trauma Team members shouted, sensing the fight spiraling out of control.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The sharpshooter opened fire, his expression grim. Bullets slammed into Riku, his subdermal armor barely holding up under the barrage. It wouldn’t last much longer.
Dran’s eyes blazed with madness as he unleashed a flurry of slashes. His thermal katana tore through Riku’s high-grade armor, the burning sensation only fueling his bloodlust. His fighting spirit had consumed his reason.
Vrrr!
Dran’s Sandevistan roared as he aimed a lethal strike at Riku’s neck, not dodging or blocking—just a wild, downward slash filled with insanity.
Splurch!
The power sword’s immense force cleaved Riku from head to torso, splitting him vertically. But Riku’s own blade didn’t stop.
Splurch!
Dran’s head flew off, hitting the ground. The madness in his eyes faded, replaced by a look of release.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Bullets whizzed through the air, finally overwhelming Riku’s subdermal armor. Several shots pierced his body, leaving holes.
Riku yanked the power sword from his gut. His upper body was split in two, yet he stood firm. With a grunt, he forced his halves together, flesh knitting rapidly. In a blink, he was whole again.
"What the hell is this monster?!" the three remaining Trauma Team members gaped, their minds blown. This was beyond comprehension—was this guy even human?!
Riku glanced out the window. Night had fallen, the last sliver of light gone. Without hesitation, he leapt into the darkness.
He couldn’t let himself get cornered. Trauma Team wasn’t to be messed with—if they pinned him down and brought out heavy firepower, he’d be toast. Legs blown to bits? No running then. But at night, the sun wasn’t a threat. Even if a sniper round hit him, he could still escape.
Riku didn’t need a car, didn’t need to worry about trackers. If he could shake them, they’d never find him.
His bold “Nigerundayo!” move—straight out of a JoJo playbook—left the Trauma Team stunned. Show off and then bolt, huh?!
"After him!" the three shouted, giving chase. The netrunner lagged behind, glancing around. That monster had been split in half, yet there wasn’t a drop of blood. Unreal.
Riku sprinted, his upper body still healing. He’d dodged just enough to protect his Sandevistan, so it was still running smoothly, letting him escape at breakneck speed.
Shocked by Riku’s stunt, the Trauma Team was slow to react. By the time they moved, he’d vanished into the night, his speed like a ninja in an old anime.
Three hovercars took off, their spotlights sweeping the darkness for Riku. Losing an operative and letting the target escape was unacceptable—a scandal that’d make headlines.
Riku’s info had already been sent to HQ. Daivo Collins’ name was now in the NCPD database, marked as extremely dangerous.
Riku dashed through the city, pushing his Sandevistan to its limits. He made it from the North Industrial District back to Little Chinatown.
He stuck to narrow alleys, dizzying himself with twists and turns, leaving the Trauma Team chasing shadows like headless oni.
In a city of seven million, once Riku slipped away, finding him would be like searching for a single sakura petal in a storm.
"Devil?! You okay?! Where are you?!"
Riku crouched in an alley, debating whether to hit up Old Vic, when a message from Sasha popped up. The ko-gal must’ve seen the news and was freaking out.
V and Jack sent messages too, all worried about him. Even Old Vic chimed in with a single line.
Chapter 102: Biotech’s Total Confusion
“No need to worry about me, Sasha-chan. Take care of yourself. I might need to lay low outside Night City for a few days. Until I’m back, steer clear of Biotech—they’re probably super pissed right now.”
Riku shot a quick message to Sasha, figuring Night City wasn’t a safe place for him at the moment. With his wanted status still flashing like a neon sign, those keisatsu stars weren’t fading anytime soon.
“Oji-san Vic, I’m fine, just need some cyberware patched up. Got time?”
After replying to Sasha, Riku messaged Old Vic, the only rigaku ishi (cyberware doc) in Night City he could trust.
“Come to this spot.”
Old Vic didn’t hesitate, sending over an address—pretty out-of-the-way, too.
“You sure you’re okay with the heat this might bring?”
Riku was touched. Honestly, if Old Vic had turned him down, he’d have understood completely.
“Brat, don’t act all grateful when you’re already getting a deal. Shake off any tails before you show up.”
Old Vic’s reply made Riku reassess the trouble he was in. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought?
Sticking to the shadows, Riku avoided main roads, weaving through pitch-black alleys as he headed toward Old Vic’s location, moving like a ninja in a mecha anime.
Three eyes forward, one scanning behind—he kept all four on high alert, watching for anything suspicious.
He’d already yanked out the hacked Kiroshi cyber-eyes. Now, his eye sockets held a pair he’d flesh-crafted from earlier trophies.
Having learned his lesson from being tracked once, Riku wasn’t taking chances. He couldn’t be sure those Kiroshi eyes were compromised, but better safe than sorry, right? Yudan sezu ni ikō!
His body was a walking arsenal of flesh-crafted cyber-eyes, all spoils from past battles, tucked away inside him. No shortage of spares there.
Still, he’d need Old Vic to swap in a fresh pair for daytime—normal eyes were a must under the sun.
After a maze of twists and turns, Riku finally reached the spot Old Vic sent. It was an old, rundown house in Watson’s grimy district, so unassuming he almost missed it.
Pushing open the door, Riku caught Old Vic’s scent immediately. His nose for people was getting sharper—maybe a hidden talent like a shonen protagonist?
“Oji-san, this your secret kichi (base)?”
Riku scanned the place. It looked like a training dojo—maybe for kenpō or something. A boxing gym vibe, straight out of a gritty sports anime.
“Something like that. Been abandoned for ages,” Old Vic said, wiping dust off some training gear with a wistful look. The stuff clearly hadn’t been touched in years.
“Let’s get to it. Subdermal armor needs fixing, right?”
After a moment of nostalgia, Old Vic waved Riku toward a small room next door.
It was a med bay, but not exactly cutting-edge. The equipment was ancient, like something from a retro sci-fi anime.
“Don’t worry, these old relics still work,” Old Vic said with a grin, sitting at a console with a flickering screen.
“It’s pretty banged up this time,” Riku admitted, lying on the exam table and letting Old Vic do his thing.
“…”
After a quick scan, Old Vic went quiet. This wasn’t just “pretty banged up.”
Even ignoring the katana-like gash splitting Riku from head to waist, the other wounds were enough to kill a normal person several times over!
“How’s it looking? Can you fix it?”
Riku’s voice carried a hint of nerves. Old Vic’s silence wasn’t reassuring, and he’d already had a bad feeling during the fight.
“Upper body’s gotta be replaced. No point patching it up,” Old Vic sighed, eyeing the subdermal armor’s wounds. He could tell escaping Trauma Team’s clutches was no small feat.
Riku looked fine on the outside, but Old Vic’s years of experience let him piece together the carnage: not a single unscathed spot, wounds deep enough to expose bone, organs spilling out, and a body split from head to waist.
“Tch.”
Even a tough guy like Old Vic shivered. He’d seen worse corpses, but someone surviving this? That was a first.
“No wonder Biotech’s so obsessed with you,” he muttered, grabbing his bag and pulling out prepped gear.
“Huh?”
Riku blinked, confused. Where’d that come from? Biotech wasn’t even after him at first, were they?
“It’s all over the news. Wanna hear?”
Before starting the surgery, Old Vic asked. When Riku nodded, he fiddled with an old radio nearby.
A rigaku ishi was half-doctor, half-engineer. Old Vic was as handy with a scalpel as he was with a wrench or screwdriver, like a mecha tinkerer in an isekai.
Beep beep~~~
The radio crackled to life, and the host’s voice blared, brimming with excitement.
“Daivo Collins? Fake identity! That ‘poor kid from Heywood’ story? Total bakemono! This guy’s a demon cooked up by Biotech!”
As Old Vic began the surgery, the radio kept going, the host practically bouncing off the walls.
“If you’ve seen the NCPD’s bodycam footage, you know why I’m saying this. That Devil isn’t human!
Listen up, folks—this guy’s gotta be a bioweapon from Biotech’s labs on those Northwest Pacific islands. They’ve got results!
Everyone knows Biotech owns most of Night City’s southern turf, right up to the border. Those protein labs? Probably a front for experiments like this guy.
And now, their lab rat’s loose, craving blood. Bet silver bullets are gonna sell out soon—whether this Devil is a werewolf, vampire, or akuma, silver’s bound to do something.
Mark my words, listeners: carry silver bullets. That monster, Daivo Collins, is still running wild in Night City!”
The broadcast moved on to other topics. They’d clearly caught the tail end of the host’s rant.
“Talk about riding the hype train,” Riku quipped, though he had to admit, the guy’s theory sounded plausible.
“They’ve got noses like Inuyasha for sniffing out what’s hot,” Old Vic chuckled, swapping out Riku’s subdermal armor with steady hands.
It’d been a while since anyone made Trauma Team look like fools. Once the story broke, Night City lit up like a festival.
“What’s Biotech saying about all this?”
Riku was curious. Getting blamed for this mess out of nowhere—Biotech had to have some response, right?
“They’ve denied it publicly, but no one’s buying it. Afternoon’s news already showed you slipping out from under their noses,” Old Vic said, installing a new pair of cyber-eyes.
Even without the Biotech angle, people would’ve pointed fingers at them. And since this did start with them, well…
“That’s just…”
Riku burst out laughing. He could imagine Biotech’s execs sweating buckets. Others might not know the truth, but they sure did.
And they weren’t wrong. At that moment, Biotech’s Night City branch was holding an emergency meeting, with all the top brass dragged in.
“What the hell is up with this Daivo Collins? Can someone explain?”
At the head of the table, Valentini rubbed his temples, his gaze sweeping over the execs—or rather, the mad scientists—lined up on either side.
Biotech was less a corporation and more a research institute in a corporate skin. Thanks to their alternative fuel, CHOOH2, they’d been living cushy lives off patents since their days as a one-room startup.
As long as they held CHOOH2’s patent, money was never an issue. So, the management was mostly researchers, spending their days on experiments. Research results were the only currency that mattered here.
When Valentini first heard about Daivo Collins, he didn’t doubt for a second that this was some scientist’s pet project.
But the silence in the meeting room gave him a bad feeling.
“So… this guy’s actually from another company?”
Valentini’s face was a mix of disbelief and shock as he stared at the silent scientists. One thought screamed in his mind:
“No way!!!”
If even Biotech, the top dogs in bioengineering, couldn’t pull this off, what company could?!
“Could he be an experiment from the Northwest Pacific? They’re researching Armillaria ostoyae or something, right? Maybe he’s some kind of fungal hybrid?” one scientist suggested. The way his body split and re-fused—it was like mycelium stitching itself back together.
“You’re saying an experiment crossed the entire Pacific to show up in Night City?”
Valentini’s mouth twitched. He knew these mad scientists had wild imaginations, but this was too far-fetched!
Chapter 103: Laying Low in Another World
The Biotechnica meeting ended without any solid answers. The colleagues from the Northwest Pacific branch didn’t claim this “Daivo Collins” as one of theirs.
Of course, the lab geeks growing fungi back at HQ were practically drooling over this Daivo Collins, begging for samples if Night City managed to nab him. Even the European branch was buzzing with interest. The guy wasn’t even caught yet, his origins were a total mystery, but samples were already being pre-ordered left and right.
“Whatever. First, we gotta figure out how to catch this Daivo Collins,” said Valentini, the guy in charge.
That was the meeting’s big conclusion, but deep down, Valentini and the others weren’t holding their breath. Biotechnica, a European company headquartered in Rome, didn’t have the manpower in Night City—or anywhere in New America, for that matter—to compete with the big dogs.
Now that word about Daivo Collins was out, other kaisha (corporations) were bound to get curious and stick their noses in. Biotechnica had no edge here. Worse, Valentini had a sinking feeling that not only would they fail to catch this guy, but Daivo Collins might paint a target on their backs for other companies to exploit.
“Who the hell is behind this?!” Valentini fumed, racking his brain. Funnily enough, his first guess was his own company—talk about paranoia.
“Done.”
In an old hideout in Watson District, Old Vic finished the surgery, packing away his tools with practiced ease.
“Thanks, Vic. You’re a lifesaver,” Riku said, rolling his shoulders to test the new setup. His gigan (cybernetic eyes) were the same old Kiritsu model, but Vic had scrubbed any backdoors clean.
“I’d suggest you get outta Night City for a bit. Find a quiet spot to lay low. This mess is gonna stir up trouble for a while,” Vic said, his voice calm but carrying the weight of someone who’d seen it all.
“Give it some time, and the kaisha will shift their focus from you to Biotechnica. By then, Biotechnica will be too busy to care about you.”
Vic nailed the crux of it. For other companies, snagging a runaway test subject like Riku was a nice bonus. But if they couldn’t catch him, Biotechnica was still right there—a sitting duck. If anyone wanted this tech bad enough, they’d just raid Biotechnica’s labs instead.
Of course, Biotechnica wasn’t some pushover. Their labs were locked down tighter than a Night Corp data fortress. Breaching them would be a show worth watching.
“Got it,” Riku said, nodding. Vic’s explanation made it crystal clear.
Biotechnica’s kaisha-inu (corporate dogs) were in for a rough time, especially since they didn’t even have the tech they were being blamed for.
“Once the heat dies down, you can come back. If you wanna play it safe, swap out your face, tweak your build,” Vic suggested, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
For an underground gitai doc like Vic, changing faces or body types was just another Tuesday. Night City had a short memory—hot topics came and went, and kaisha-inu didn’t waste resources on low-profit hunts. If they couldn’t find Riku after a while, they’d write him off as dead or snatched by a rival kaisha.
“Here, Vic. Pass these chips to V and Jack,” Riku said, handing over two kokyū-hō (Breathing Technique) chips. He’d already messaged V and Jack, letting them know he was safe and had left them something.
“No problem,” Vic replied, pocketing the chips without asking questions.
“Catch ya later, Vic. I’ll be back,” Riku said with a grin, giving a casual wave as he prepared to make his exit like some shonen hero.
“Yeah, you better. That’s 12,000 eddies you owe me,” Vic said matter-of-factly, nodding.
The subdermal armor for the upper body got a discount, but the Kiritsu gigan work wasn’t free. Vic’s words stopped Riku in his tracks, his cool-guy vibe crumbling into awkwardness. He’d totally forgotten about the bill.
“Uh, can I pay you back when I’m back?” Riku asked, scratching his head. He wasn’t trying to mooch off Vic, but he wasn’t sure if transferring eddies via chip would get him tracked. Cash was still king for staying off the grid.
“No rush. You’ll need cash outside the city anyway,” Vic said, unfazed. He wasn’t worried about Riku skipping out on the tab. With Riku’s gitai-enhanced body, short of getting obliterated by a high-caliber round, nothing was taking him down.
“You can use the chip’s eddies no problem. I checked the ID Priest set up for you—it’s clean. Your identity and bank account don’t link up,” Vic added, reading Riku’s concern.
The chip was from Vic, and the fake ID came from Priest—two old-school saibō rongu (cyber-ronin) who knew better than to slip up on something so basic.
“No way… so this Daivo Collins thing has nothing to do with me?” Riku said, half-laughing. Besides borrowing the name, there wasn’t a single trace leading back to him.
The saibō rongu weren’t amateurs. They had ways to cover their tracks in a city where kaisha could sniff out anything.
“You think eddies disappear that easily? Nobody’d run this game if they did,” Vic said with a chuckle, shaking his head. Big transactions were safer with cash, sure, but chūkanin (fixers) also acted as a buffer, protecting both saibō rongu and clients.
Unlike kaisha-inu, whose lives were owned by the corporations, saibō rongu didn’t sign contracts or leave paper trails. It was all about reputation and skill—cred was as vital as strength on the streets.
“Thanks, Vic,” Riku said again, genuinely grateful. Having a legend like Vic in your corner was like having a senpai straight out of a shonen anime—pure gold.
Vic just waved him off, slinging his bag and leaving with a cool, effortless swagger. Riku didn’t stick around either, slipping out of Vic’s secret base.
But Riku wasn’t planning to skip town. He had a better way to disappear—one that no kaisha-inu could track, even if they turned Night City or this whole world upside down.
In a deserted alley, Riku pulled up the Kyokugen System interface, staring at the glowing words: [Start Traverse].
He wasn’t keen on heading back to the Kimetsu no Yaiba (Demon Slayer) world. Hunting oni (demons) was a slog, and playing nice with the Demon Slayer Corps felt like a tiresome shonen arc. Plus, he’d already snagged the best abilities from both sides—there wasn’t much left to gain there. A new world sounded like a better bet.
“Maybe it’s time for a new adventure,” Riku decided. His survival skills were solid now. As long as the world wasn’t too yabai (insane), he’d be fine.
With a flash, Riku’s body vanished from the alley. The world around him shifted, but not as much as he’d expected. He was still in an alley, but the cityscape beyond was different—no longer Night City’s neon sprawl. The high-rises had a distinct vibe, more like Tokyo than Night City.
[Traverse Complete]
[Current World: Tokyo Ghoul]
The system’s prompt popped up, and Riku’s mouth twitched. “Well, damn. The gourmet anime, huh?”
Chapter 104: Kindred Spirits
Sniff sniff~
Riku twitched his nose. Under the cover of night, in the shadowy depths of a dingy alley, the scent of human flesh wafted through the air.
“Mmm, smells like a yakiniku feast,” he muttered.
For ghouls—creatures straight out of Tokyo Ghoul—nighttime was prime hunting season, and the city’s maze of alleys was their shuryōba (hunting ground).
Unlike Riku, who was more of a yōkai in this cyberpunk world, ghouls didn’t fear sunlight. They hunted at night to blend into human society during the day.
In other words, in this world, your classmate or coworker could secretly be a ghoul, sneaking out at night to feast on human flesh like a villain from a shonen anime.
Riku activated his optical camouflage, his body shimmering before vanishing in a ripple of colors, like a ninja using a genjutsu.
After turning two corners in the alley, Riku stumbled upon a scene that made his stomach rumble.
One ghoul was chowing down on a human, while another knelt nearby, seemingly waiting for scraps like a loyal retainer.
“I’m Kazuo. Haven’t eaten in ages. Sorry, I can only share a little,” the feasting ghoul said, tearing off a chunk of flesh and handing it to the kneeling one. Surprisingly nakama-like for ghouls.
The human corpse on the ground stared up with wide, lifeless eyes, probably wondering how he ended up as tonight’s bento.
“That kneeling guy… he’s not a ghoul or a human,” Riku thought, leaning against the wall at the alley’s corner, his eyes narrowing. “Could he be…?”
Just then, another ghoul approached from the other end of the alley, sniffing the air and glancing curiously toward Riku’s spot.
Riku tensed. Ghouls had sharp noses too, it seemed. His camouflage hid his form, but not his scent. Yabai, he hadn’t accounted for that.
The newcomer, a brown-haired guy with glasses, strutted in and—BAM!—kicked the feasting ghoul’s head clean off. It flew past the kneeling ghoul, landing near Riku’s feet.
Unlike Riku’s kind, a headshot like that was usually fatal for ghouls—unless they were some kagune freak.
“Don’t just eat in someone else’s shuryōba,” the glasses-wearing ghoul sneered, all swagger and yakuza vibes.
He turned to the kneeling figure. “New face, huh? Why’s only one of your eyes red? Gross.”
His words sparked a memory in Riku. He racked his brain, trying to recall old anime plotlines.穿越 (time-travel) or not, he hadn’t gotten a memory-boosting cheat like some isekai protagonist, so remembering every detail from every anime was tough.
“This cocky guy… is he Nishio Nishiki?” Riku mused. If so, this must be right after Kaneki Ken’s surgery, when he was turned into a one-eyed ghoul.
WHAM!
Nishiki grabbed the kneeling ghoul by the throat, hoisting the blue-hoodie-wearing figure against the wall with one hand.
Riku got a clear look at the young guy’s face: one left eye with a black sclera and blood-red iris, the right eye human. Definitely Kaneki Ken, the one-eyed ghoul. Black-haired Kaneki was harder to recognize without his signature white locks.
Sniff sniff~
Riku’s nose twitched again. Another scent was closing in fast—from above, probably the rooftops. “Nishiki, Kaneki… then the one coming must be the heroine, Kirishima Tōka, right?”
“You barge into someone’s shuryōba without permission—you know what happens next?” Nishiki taunted, looming over a terrified Kaneki with all the bravado of a shonen antagonist.
Poor Kaneki, a regular college kid just weeks ago, was way out of his depth. He looked ready to pass out from fear.
“S-Sorry! I didn’t know! I was just passing by!” Kaneki stammered, choking under Nishiki’s grip, desperately trying to appease the ghoul.
“Passing by? If your girlfriend was lying naked over there, and some half-naked dude was shouting ‘I didn’t do anything, just passing by,’ would you believe him?” Nishiki grinned wickedly, tightening his hold. Kaneki couldn’t even respond.
Riku’s mouth twitched at the analogy. Oi, Nishiki, tone down the weird Japanese netizen vibes, will ya? Good example, but maybe don’t use it again.
“Who’s there?!” Nishiki snapped, whipping his head toward Riku’s corner.
His nose had been picking up a strange presence nearby, but he couldn’t see anything.
“This shuryōba’s yours now, Nishiki?” a girl’s voice cut in before Riku could respond. She dropped from a nearby rooftop, landing effortlessly from a five- or six-story height like a kunoichi.
Ghouls had physical abilities far beyond humans. Compared to Riku’s yōkai-like kind, ghouls had an even more overwhelming edge over humans—normal weapons couldn’t even scratch them.
In Demon Slayer, regular folks like Tanjiro could fight back against demons with an axe, at least doing some damage. But against ghouls? Humans were helpless. Normal blades left no mark, like swinging at a mecha.
“Tōka?” Nishiki dropped Kaneki and turned to the new arrival.
Riku glanced over. Purple hair, purple eyes—Kirishima Tōka was easier to recognize than black-haired Kaneki.
“I already know Rize, that glutton, is dead. This shuryōba was mine to begin with—Rize just stole it,” Tōka said, glaring at Nishiki.
Facing her challenge, Nishiki’s impatience was clear. He didn’t care that after Rize’s death, her stolen hunting grounds were split among weaker ghouls. This was his turf, and he was taking it back.
Tokyo’s 20th Ward was managed by the Anteiku café, but Nishiki had no interest in listening to that bunch of “weaklings” boss him around.
The two clashed almost instantly, but the fight was over in a flash. Nishiki, an A-rank ghoul, was no match for S-rank Tōka. He swung and missed; she dodged effortlessly and sliced him up with a dozen cuts from her ukaku kagune.
Riku watched from the sidelines. These ghouls were no joke. Tōka’s speed was insane, her ukaku kagune giving her explosive bursts of power.
After chasing off the cocky Nishiki, Tōka turned to Kaneki, who was struggling to suppress his hunger for human flesh.
Kaneki’s desperate battle against his own craving—wanting to eat but refusing to give in—hit Riku right in the feels.
He could relate, though he had it easier. His Limit System kept his mind stable; all he had to fight was the hunger. Kaneki, on the other hand, was sprawled on the ground, sobbing, on the verge of a mental breakdown from his body’s instincts.
“You not gonna eat?” Tōka asked, picking up an arm from the corpse and offering it to Kaneki. But when she got a good look at his face, her expression shifted. “Wait, you’re…”
Kaneki recognized her too. He was a regular at Anteiku, where Tōka worked as a waitress, sipping coffee and reading.
“Please! Help me! I don’t want to eat people! I’m human!” Kaneki begged, his voice raw with desperation. He didn’t want to become a monster. If he ate human flesh, would he still be human?
But his body betrayed him. Drool dripped, his hands twitched toward the flesh, his brain screaming at him to give in.
“If you don’t have the guts to eat, I’ll help you!” Tōka said, ripping off a chunk of meat and moving to shove it into Kaneki’s mouth.
Vrrr!
Riku activated his Sandevistan, his body blurring as he shot forward, thermal katana raised.
Splurch!
Tōka’s hand, still holding the flesh, flew into the air. She stumbled back, clutching her wrist—now empty.
“Hey, onee-san, I think he gets to decide whether he eats human flesh,” Riku said, standing protectively in front of Kaneki, a grin on his face as he pointed his thermal katana at Tōka.
“What… what kind of monster are you?!” Tōka’s kagune eyes flared, her teeth gritted as she glared at Riku.
A severed hand or foot was no big deal for a ghoul—she’d regenerate in no time.
“I’m like this kid here. Kindred spirits, you could say. So, sorry, I can’t just stand by while you force-feed him human flesh,” Riku said, holding off on attacking further.
Another dangerous presence was lurking nearby, watching from the shadows. If Riku’s memory was right, that had to be Yoshimura, the “Non-Killing Owl” and Anteiku’s manager.
Chapter 105: Human or Ghoul
Riku had just sliced off Touka Kirishima’s arm. It looked like a clean cut, but inside, he was shocked. His netsu-bushidō (thermal katana) had met serious resistance.
In his mind, Touka Kirishima wasn’t exactly a tank among kūshu (ghouls), but even so, his blade had struggled to cut through.
“Rc cells… they’re something else,” Riku muttered to himself, impressed.
He knew that resistance came from the high concentration of Rc cells in Touka’s body, stored in her kakuhō (Rc sac). During combat, these cells could manifest as one of four types of kakuja (ghoul kagune). They also acted like a natural shield, making most weapons and firearms useless against ghouls—barely able to scratch the surface.
To take down a kūshu, you needed specialized gear like a Quinque, a weapon crafted from a ghoul’s kagune, or mass-produced anti-ghoul rounds like the Q-Barrett. Those could handle low-tier kūshu just fine.
In short, Rc cells were the key to countering Rc cells—one reason ghouls could dominate regular humans so easily.
Of course, “invincible” wasn’t absolute. Riku had just proven that by lopping off Touka’s arm. But against stronger ghouls with tougher defenses, he wasn’t so sure his thermal katana would cut it.
“He’s not human anymore! Can’t you see that?!” Touka shouted, her voice sharp as she shot back at Riku.
She didn’t know what was up with that one-eyed guy, but she was dead certain he wasn’t human. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have forced him to eat. She wasn’t some psycho who got a kick out of making humans experience a ghoul’s hunger.
“And you’re nothing like him! He smells like both human and kūshu, but you? You’re neither! What are you?!” Touka demanded, her voice rising.
As she spoke, blood-red Rc cells erupted from her left shoulder, forming a single, gas-like wing—her ukaku (feather kagune).
Riku’s words didn’t convince her. His scent was completely different from the one-eyed guy’s. To her, Riku smelled like some kind of wild beast—dangerous and unpredictable.
“Me and this kid? We were both human once, turned into this,” Riku said, shaking his head. He sheathed his katana, lowering his guard but staying wary of Yoshimura Kōzen, who was watching from the shadows.
Touka was no slouch, but she wasn’t a real threat to Riku. Her speed and explosiveness didn’t outmatch his, and when it came to endurance, she was leagues behind. But Yoshimura Kōzen? That guy was a true ukaku monster. He could wipe the floor with rookies like Touka without breaking a sweat.
Sure, Yoshimura couldn’t kill Riku, but he could definitely break through his subdermal armor—and good luck finding a place to repair that in this world.
“Turned from human to this?! What the hell does that mean?!” Touka froze, her mind reeling.
She didn’t know the details, but she vaguely recalled that the one-eyed guy used to be a human customer at the café. The idea of a human being turned into a kūshu was beyond her comprehension.
“This kid got a ghoul’s organs transplanted into him,” Riku said, hoisting Kaneki Ken off the ground. The poor guy was practically drooling, looking half-starved and out of it.
Riku’s words snapped Kaneki back to reality, confirming the suspicions that had been haunting him for days.
“The transplant… it’s the organs,” Kaneki muttered, clutching his stomach. A few days ago, an accident had left him critically injured, and some doctor had performed an unauthorized organ transplant.
“You’re right. This kid had a kūshu’s organs grafted into him,” an elderly voice chimed in, drawing the attention of one ghoul, one half-ghoul, and one oni (demon).
It was an old man with white hair, dressed in a black-and-white striped vest and pants, a waiter’s outfit complete with a coffee-colored apron tied around his waist. His eyes were squinted, his face sporting a gentle smile.
“Manager?!” Touka gasped, her kakuhe (ghoul eyes) fading as her gas-like wing retracted.
The manager’s presence instantly eased her tension, the sense of mortal danger vanishing like it had never been there.
“Sir, could you return Touka’s arm? She’s got school tomorrow, and she doesn’t mean any harm,” Yoshimura Kōzen said, nodding to Touka with a warm, grandfatherly smile as he addressed Riku.
“Sure thing. I didn’t mean any harm either—just got a bit heavy-handed in the heat of the moment,” Riku replied, playing along. You don’t swing at someone with a smile like that.
He sheathed his thermal katana, picked up Touka’s severed arm from the ground, and tossed it to her.
Touka caught her right arm with her left hand, her mouth twitching. No malice, huh? Chopping off her arm was his idea of kindness? She pressed the arm to her severed wrist—reattaching it made recovery way easier than regrowing it from scratch.
Touka wasn’t known for insane regeneration like some ghouls. Without her arm, she’d probably need a couple of days off to heal.
“Manager! What’s wrong with my body?! Please, help me!” Kaneki pleaded, his voice desperate, like a drowning man grasping for a lifeline.
“This is the first time I’ve seen a case like yours, but there’s no doubt—your body is more kūshu than human now,” Yoshimura said slowly, glancing at Kaneki. He’d seen the news about the organ transplant a few days ago and pieced it together.
Two students had been crushed by falling steel beams. The doctor had taken the organs of the deceased female student—a ghoul named Rize Kamishiro—and transplanted them into the boy in front of him.
Kaneki stood there, stunned, as if Yoshimura’s words were a death sentence. More ghoul than human—it was like his fate had been sealed. He’d never go back to a normal life.
“Sir! Sir! Is there a way to fix this?! Please, help me!” Kaneki turned to Riku, his eyes wild with hope. This strange guy, who looked like he was cosplaying some akuma (demon), had just said he had a choice!
“You said we’re the same, right? That you went through this too? Please, tell me what to do!” Kaneki’s voice broke, tears streaming down his face. He was just an 18-year-old kid, and this was too much for him to handle.
“No way. This is a ghoul’s fate,” Touka snapped, her patience wearing thin. She didn’t buy that this guy had some magic fix.
“Nah, I don’t believe in fate,” Riku said, shaking his head, which made Kaneki’s eyes light up with desperate hope.
“Ghouls can eat other ghouls. In fact, for a kūshu, eating another kūshu is the real power-up,” Riku said boldly, dropping a bombshell right in front of two ghouls.
Kaneki froze, dumbfounded, while Touka’s face darkened. Yoshimura, though, just stood there with his hands behind his back, his smile unchanged.
“What the hell are you saying?! That’s cannibalism!” Touka snarled, glaring at Riku like he was insane.
“Oh, Touka-chan, you’re adorable,” Riku said, bursting into exaggerated laughter that left her fuming.
“You’re a natural-born kūshu. He’s not. After living as a human all these years, do you think he sees humans or ghouls as his kind?” Riku asked, yanking the still-stunned Kaneki closer and looking him dead in the eye.
“Tell me, kid. Are you human or kūshu?”
Kaneki’s mouth opened, but no words came out. In his heart, in his sense of self, he was undeniably human.
“Humans or ghouls—which one would you choose to eat?” Riku pressed, hitting him with the next question.
Kaneki couldn’t answer. His human instincts screamed kūshu, but his body—his new, ghoul-hungry body—craved human flesh.
I did my best!
