“Strange…” Jake stared at the motionless progress bar on the screen.
Why couldn’t the surgery process be skipped?
Biological needs like eating shouldn’t be included in a game either.
This game was bizarre…
He glanced at the time in the bottom right corner.
19:03.
By the time the surgery finished, it would be midnight.
He couldn’t stay up late, so he didn’t plan on playing any further tonight.
Jake picked up his phone and opened the calculator.
After buying the cyberware and paying the surgery fee, David’s account balance was left at: 109,541.3.
Based on the exchange rate, if the realization succeeded, he would get nearly nine hundred thousand in cash!
That would be more than enough for his heart surgery, right?
Jake opened the hospital appointment booking page.
For cardiothoracic surgery at top-tier hospitals, expert appointments were already booked out through next week.
He flipped through several pages before finding a general outpatient slot for tomorrow afternoon.
General outpatient was fine.
He just needed to get the tests done first…
Jake opened his notepad and began planning tomorrow’s itinerary.
Bank in the morning, hospital in the afternoon.
If time permitted…
he suddenly thought of the orphanage.
The last time he went was back during Chinese New Year.
The old director had stuffed a large bag of homemade sausages into his hands and told him to stop eating so much takeout.
Because of his health issues, he rarely went out, and he hadn’t visited since.
“Once I get the money, I should go back and visit,” Jake murmured.
He glanced at the surgery countdown on his monitor, stood up, and stretched.
“Five hours…” “Might as well take a rest.” …
In the game.
When David opened his eyes again, the gentle face of Vik was in front of him.
“You’re awake,” Vik said, taking off his sunglasses.
“The surgery was a success.
How do you feel?” David could feel a dull, throbbing pain coming from his back and Achilles tendons.
But since Jake wasn’t typing, David couldn’t speak a single word.
He could only stare wide-eyed at Vik.
“Hmm?” Vik waited a few seconds, his brows slowly knitting together.
“Feeling uncomfortable?
You can just tell me.” *If I could speak, I would have already!* Seeing David’s lack of response, Vik’s frown deepened.
Did something go wrong with the surgery?
The spine…
could the kid be paralyzed?
He turned to pick up the scanner from his workbench, intending to perform another thorough check on David.
In the very next second, however, David suddenly sprang straight up off the chair.
A medical miracle?
Vik instinctively took half a step back.
Before he could say anything, David’s vision was suddenly engulfed by a light blue halo.
He felt a faint electric sensation pulse down his spine, followed by a surge of abundant power cascading into his limbs and body.
He realized the world had slowed down.
A drop of disinfectant falling from the edge of a desk drifted downward at an impossibly sluggish speed.
The clinic’s exhaust fan spun in slow motion.
Vik stood by the workbench like a frozen statue.
David was controlled to rise from the operating table, stepping effortlessly around the clinic at an easy, leisurely pace.
The cheers of the boxing audience were stretched thin, the cyberware advertisements on the street played in slow motion, and even the trajectory of dust motes tumbling through beams of light was crystal clear to his eyes.
*This is…
the Sandevistan?* He did a lap around the room.
By the time he came to a stop in front of the operating table, the light blue halo was fading.
*Clang—* All sound rushed back in an instant.
The hum of the scanner, the rush of air from passing AVs, the chatter of pedestrians in the street…
every sound layered together, noisy yet intensely real.
“I feel great,” Jake smiled and said to Vik.
This was totally overpowered.
If he had this cyberware back in North Watson, he could have slaughtered all those 6th Street gangers with just a blade!
“Alright, don’t get cocky.” Seeing that there hadn’t been a medical malpractice incident, Vik finally let out a sigh of relief.
He turned around and pulled out a silver climate-controlled box from under the workbench.
Opening it revealed several rows of syringes arranged neatly inside.
“I need to make the rules clear to you.” “For the next 72 hours: no strenuous exercise, no activating combat cyberware to engage in gunfights, no drinking alcohol, no neuro-drugs, and no unauthorized dismantling of the cyberware casing.” He tapped the box.
“There are also immunosuppressants and neural stabilizers inside.
Remember to take them according to the manual.
I’ve already given you one shot today, so you don’t need another.” “That’s quite a lot of rules.” Jake was a bit surprised.
“It’s for your own good, kid.” Vik looked up at him.
“The Sandevistan isn’t like other cyberware.” “Every time you activate it, it pushes your brain, heart, and blood vessels to their absolute limit.
Frequent use will cause irreversible neural damage and multi-organ failure…” “It’s the single fastest cyberware to trigger cyberpsychosis in Night City, bar none.” “Take it easy on yourself.” David couldn’t agree more.
He was already possessed by an evil spirit.
If he turned into a cyberpsycho on top of that, his life would be completely ruined.
It seemed that no matter what, he couldn’t install any more cyberware…
“Cyberware’s installed.
Too bad I didn’t get around to dealing with the BD wreath,” David heard the voice in his head say.
“Whatever, that’s enough for today.” Jake glanced at the bottom right corner of his screen.
00:12.
He exited the game and clicked save.
Before he could turn off his computer…
*Ding-dong—* The doorbell rang.
Jake froze.
So fast?
He stood up, walked to the front door, placed his hand on the knob, took a deep breath, and turned it.
The voice-activated hallway light wasn’t on.
Only a faint yellow glow from a streetlamp filtered through the broken window at the end of the corridor.
On the ground outside his door sat three white cardboard boxes, square and crisp, stamped with the [Night City] logo.
“It really is once per day?” Jake squatted down and opened one of the boxes.
Inside were neatly stacked bundles of Eurodollars, sealed in clear plastic film.
Under the dim light, the color-shifting ink on the top bill shimmered subtly.
He counted them—ten bundles.
One hundred thousand Eddies.
Jake counted them twice before placing them back and turning to the adjacent box.
He opened another box: ammunition.
An entire crate of brass shell casings sat neatly arranged in foam slots.
The last box was even heavier.
He lifted the lid.
Inside were various weapons looted from North Watson, accompanied by a military tactical knife in a nylon sheath.
Jake picked up the knife and drew the blade.
Cold light slid across the metal, reflecting half his face.
He sheathed the knife and rummaged through the bottom of the box.
Sure enough, six fragmentation grenades sat isolated in foam compartments, each one heavy in his hand.
After two instances of reality manifest, Jake had roughly figured out his ability.
He could only manifest items from the game *Edgerunners*.
It happened once a day, and every manifestation brought forth the equipment, items, and money obtained during that specific play session.
It wasn’t an overwhelming ability, but it was certainly a cheat code.
He might not reach the absolute top of the world, but he was guaranteed a life of immense wealth and freedom.
Having suffered from his heart condition for twenty-three agonizing years, Jake was finally tasting the sweetness after the bitterness, and his heart overflowed with pure joy.
While nobody was around, he began carrying the boxes into his apartment.
From the front door to his wardrobe was only a few steps, yet he had to pause twice to catch his breath.
After bringing in the final load…
Jake sat on the floor, leaning back against the wardrobe door, his chest heaving.
Though exhausted, looking at the box filled with one hundred thousand Eurodollars brought an uncontrollable smile to his face.
Was this the joy of being rich?