BCST 55

chapter 55

“Psychic energy? Of course! That’s the ability I’ve dreamed of having!”

…Guess I didn’t even need to ask.

Well, that’s only natural.
Handling psychic energy is one of the ultimate goals for every Gunman.

In a hunter-type world, it would be like awakening;
in a martial arts novel, it’s like sensing the flow of natural energy.
A vital step toward transcendence.

You only become a true Gunman when you can control psychic energy.

But the method of awakening that energy—
it’s both extremely dangerous and, in a way, perfectly suited for this fusion-punk era.

I spoke to Keen in a rare, serious tone.

“Keen, if you go through with this training, you might go insane. Are you still willing to do it?”

“Of course I—!”

I cut him off before he could finish, my voice firm.

“This isn’t a metaphor. You literally have to go mad to obtain this power. I’m going to make you insane.”

“…What?”

He was caught off guard by how serious I was.

Seeing that, Keen finally calmed down, his earlier excitement fading as he looked at me in silence.

But there was no room for hesitation.
This training literally required madness.

Praise be.
The dumb yet divine game—C.O.C.

I’ve already played it all the way through.
That’s why I know the hidden truth behind “psychic energy,” something most people here still don’t understand.

It’s not called psychic for nothing.

I glanced at the cyberware attached to Keen’s right arm and continued.

“Up until now, all your training has been about one thing—raising your synchronization rate.
So that you can handle that Requiem as if it were your own body.”

Keen didn’t interrupt—just listened silently.
So I went on.

“But think about it. Between you, a human, and that legendary-grade cyberware called Requiem…
When you compare the total capacity of both, which one do you think is bigger?”

Even as I asked, I already knew what he’d likely answer.

Probably “me,” of course.
Most people see themselves as the center of things,
and they tend to overestimate their own scale.

But—

“…Probably Requiem.”

He answered in a low, grounded voice.

Maybe it’s different when you’re actually wearing it.
Or maybe because he grew up here, he’s seen enough incidents to understand what cyberware can do.

I nodded approvingly.

“Right. Objectively speaking, from a non-human point of view,
you’re like a small dock floating on the edge of a massive lake.
The cyberware has no malice—it only draws from that lake according to your commands and your capacity.”

“…”

“Now here’s the question,” I said quietly.
“If that arm is connected to you—if you and it have become one—then who’s the real owner of the body?”

Why is it that this world keeps bringing up cyber psychos?
Why are they feared, even among ordinary people?

It’s because when cyberware goes berserk, its power is unleashed without limit—
a situation where machines begin to control their human hosts.

As users train to increase their sync rate,
they also increase their risk of being consumed by the machine.

Anyone with cyberware—no matter how small the modification—faces that danger.
Meaning even a normal person could, with a bit of bad luck, become a cyber psycho at any time.

In this fusion-punk world where nearly everyone is implanted with cyberware,
cyber psychos aren’t just a social problem.
They’re a universal fear—a reminder that a machine can rob you of your humanity at any moment.

And right in the middle of that razor’s edge lies the shortcut to awakening psychic energy.

“Shift your sense of self away from your human body—to that arm.
Believe that the machine’s sensations, not human senses, are the correct ones.
Dismantle your human scale and let yourself be pulled into the scale of the machine.
Only then will you begin to manifest psychic energy.”

“…What?”

He looked at me like I’d just told him to lose his mind.

Well—he’s not wrong.
That’s exactly what I said.

In this world’s elementary schools, they probably make kids read things like
“How to Safely Handle Cyberware” or “You and Your Machine: A Happy, Psycho-Free Life.”

What I just said was the complete opposite of that—
dangerous, heretical knowledge.

But sooner or later, any high-level user naturally ends up going through this process.
Around the Second Tier, when you start truly using your cyberware as if it were your body—
that’s when it happens.

From that point on, to get stronger,
you inevitably have to surrender more and more control to the machine.

And once that begins, your psychic energy starts to bloom—weakly at first, then stronger.
The user grows more powerful, their ranking rises,
and the world mistakes it for an increase in sync rate.

But that’s not the truth.

The truth is, you grow stronger because you’re slowly going insane—
losing control bit by bit to your cyberware.
Your “sync rate” is simply a measure of that madness.

In this world, even the most advanced machine users can’t escape one thing—madness.

In C.O.C., madness exists everywhere.
It waits quietly,
watching,
until someone reaches out and touches it.

“Hm.”

My thoughts had gone on long enough.

I looked at Keen, who was now staring at me with wary eyes—
as if the knowledge I’d just shared had shattered the foundation of his worldview.

Well, that’s fair.
Even in the game, this was knowledge you only learned in the late stages.

Still, what a fascinating expression.
I didn’t know humans could look that distrustful.

“I… can’t accept that,” he muttered.
“No matter what you say, it’s just an arm. You’re telling me it’s bigger than I am?
That I have to use it as my standard?”

Keen looked down at his right arm,
his gaze filled with discomfort, almost disgust—
as if staring at something monstrous.

There was fear there too—
the fear that he might one day become a cyber psycho.

I clicked my tongue quietly.

So he can’t grasp it all at once, huh?

Just moments ago, he’d admitted himself that Requiem was greater—
yet the moment his worldview shook, he retreated behind instinctive denial.

I looked at him flatly and said,
“Your brain’s smaller than your whole body, isn’t it? But it still runs everything. So what’s the problem?”

“T—that’s not the same—”

“What’s size got to do with who’s in control?” I interrupted.
“It’s function that matters.”

For someone pursuing strength and transcendence,
a cyberware core that exceeds human limits is far more vital than flesh.

Was that really so hard to understand?

As I watched him, a flicker of fear crossed Keen’s eyes.
An unconscious, primal reaction.

And I knew exactly what caused it.

That’s how humans react when they catch a glimpse of madness
—when they look directly at something that lies beyond the sane world.

“…”

“…”

An uncomfortable silence filled the air.
Neither of us spoke as we each sorted through our own thoughts.

I suddenly craved a cigarette, though I hadn’t smoked in years.

* * *

The training was almost impossible to approach.
Yet somehow, Keen gathered his resolve and accepted it.

This time, there was no need for physical repetition or intense focus.
But even so, he looked utterly drained.

A training of the mind—nothing more.

So for the remaining days, Keen lived freely.
As long as he stayed mindful of transferring control to his cyberware,
his training continued just fine.

On the first day, he went to the shooting range he’d been avoiding,
almost like breaking an addiction.
He hung out with John, who had helped him train.
Sometimes he’d just sit on his bed, staring at the wall, lost in thought.

I was too busy with my own training to spend much time with him,
aside from when he occasionally came with questions.

But when I came home late at night,
there were always more empty bottles lying around near him than before—
far more than when we’d first met on the Edge Line.

And those bottles multiplied by the day.

I sighed inwardly.
So it wasn’t an easy transition after all.

Maybe he should’ve waited until his sync rate was higher—
normally, people only start sensing this stuff around Tier 5.
Sometimes, learning too much too fast is poison.

Still, there was nothing more I could do for him.

So the days passed—eight, nine…
until finally, the big day arrived.

* * *

Vroooom!!

Streetlights lined the empty night roads, glowing faintly through the mist.
Two motorcycles tore down the shining asphalt—mine and John’s,
and the one Keen was riding.

The rendezvous point was at the border of District 55,
about two hours from Butterfall by bike.
The meeting time: midnight.

If all went well, a representative from Inoujitsu Pharmaceuticals would be waiting there.

Once we handed John over,
he’d be out of Celebrix’s reach for good.

No gang from District 56, not even a big name like Celebrix,
would dare touch someone under Inoujitsu’s protection—
one of the old giants of District 18.

I sped up, checking the side mirror to see Keen following behind.

He’d woken that morning with a hangover.
I had no idea if his training had paid off.
All I heard was his bright, joking voice—
“So, today’s the big day, huh, Wizard?”

…Well, even if he hadn’t succeeded, so be it.
I hadn’t expected him to.
Even without psychic energy, his sync rate had already skyrocketed
thanks to the previous two trainings.

He’d gotten much stronger—no doubt about that.

Suddenly, Keen shouted over the roar of the engines, his voice cutting through the night wind.

“Hey, Wizard! Not bad for your first time riding!”

Even through the slicing air, I could hear his laughter.
Still as cheerful as ever.

I extended my left hand and gave him a thumbs-up.

Click.

I guess that meant “good job,” right?

“Hell yeah!”

He flashed his high beam twice in response.

He looked surprisingly comfortable on that bike.
As for me—it really was my first time.
But how hard could it be?

You twist the throttle to go, turn the handle to steer. Simple.

Keen had told me earlier,
“If you can’t push past 200 km/h on a liter-class at night,
you might as well take an ambulance instead.”

The cold wind slashed across my face,
but it felt exhilarating.
I twisted the throttle harder.

VROOOOM—!!

Nice.

“U-ugh…!”

Behind me, John was trembling violently.
Maybe it was the cold wind.
A little longer, and we’d be there.

As long as we weren’t being chased.

And then—

“Wizard! We’ve got company—someone’s tailing us!”

I barely had time to think figures
before they appeared.

Of course.
They wouldn’t miss this chance.

Behind Keen’s bike,
a cluster of headlights blazed to life—
new motorcycles, closing in fast.