Chương 177: Chapter 170 - Shopping Trip

By the time I got into the shower after my usual stint at Mr. Shori's, I had quite a number of System Notifications stacked up—both from my morning workout, including some light work with Miss K's shard, as well as the actual time spent at Mr. Shori's itself.

[System]: The following Skills have gained experience: [Contortion], [CQC], [Martial-Arts], [Athletics], [Stealth], [Acrobatics], [Cooking], [Negotiation], [Lip-Reading], [{Anima Razor}] [System]: Skill gain Highlights: [System]: [Lip-Reading] Skill is 300xp away from reaching Level 1. [System]: [Acrobatics] Skill is 300xp away from reaching Level 4. [System]: 200xp (+100xp Bonus) gained for [{Anima Razor}] Skill.

[System]: The following Attributes have gained experience: Body (+ Bonus XP), Reflex (+ Bonus XP), Intellect, Intuition, Edge, Tech (+ Bonus XP), Ego, Anima (+ Bonus XP) [System]: Attribute gain Highlights: [System]: 400xp (+200xp Bonus) gained for Tech Attribute. [System]: Tech Attribute is 400xp away from reaching Rank 4. [System]: 200xp (+100xp Bonus) gained for Anima Attribute. [System]: Anima Attribute is 400xp away from reaching Rank 3. [System]: Remaining Bonus XP Available: 1, 700.

Watching the numbers tick upward like that—through continuous, incremental gains—was deeply satisfying in a way that was hard to explain to anyone who hadn't gotten 99 Woodcutting at some point in their life. I'd started slipping in [Lip-Reading] practice while interacting with customers at Mr. Shori's. It hadn't resulted in anything dramatic yet. Which was understandable as I wasn't very good at it, for one, and I also didn't exactly have the time to stare at people's mouths uninterrupted for hours.

Still, the gains were there. Small, but very much real. In a few days time, it should be enough to trigger the Level 1 download.' Which will hopefully teach me how to actually do this in the first place,' I thought with a faint grimace, remembering how earlier today I'd managed to extract maybe one real word out of an entire sentence.' At this point, it's more educated guessing than anything else.' But none of that mattered right now. I needed my head in the game for the gig.

After stepping out of the shower, I pulled on my Ela-specific Operator outfit from head to toe—carefully avoiding slipping into the persona just yet. No point risking that while still on a restricted floor. Once everything was in place, I grabbed my things and headed for the nearest elevator.

I'd spent a decent amount of time thinking about what I needed and where to get it, but the second question had only ever had one real answer: The Emporium. Misha would almost certainly have most of the big-time items I was looking for, and there really wasn't a better place to shop. That, and seeing Misha was always a big plus. So I made my way down to the 31st floor, properly assuming the Ela persona inside the empty elevator, and headed toward Misha's Emporium, the route having become nearly automatic by now.

The moment I stepped inside, I was greeted by the ever-energetic—and aggressively cuddly—form of Misha, who promptly coaxed me deeper into the store with zero hesitation.

"Misha is glad Ela has decided to show up today!" the Gryplik announced, flashing a wide grin full of green-tinged teeth.

"Misha has been working hard. Yes, Misha has indeed! Misha definitely deserves some Ela-time." Misha nodded enthusiastically along with the statement, as if personally validating every word. And honestly? Hard to argue with that.

"Ela is technically here for business," I replied easily, already reaching up to gently stroke the thick, braided strands of hair now firmly pressed against my shoulder, "but Ela definitely won't mind some Misha-time too—as a bonus." I glanced around the store, already mentally sorting through possibilities.

"Ela is looking for a well-stocked first-aid kit," Ela said calmly.

"Potentially a trauma-kit as well. Portable. And small enough to fit into the DuraPack alongside the drone Misha sold Ela a while ago." I shifted slightly, glancing down at my own outfit.

"Ela would also like to check if Misha has any Tier 1 pants that could replace the Tier 0 pair Ela is wearing right now. They have done their job well so far, of course," I admitted, "but Ela would prefer a bit more protection on the lower half for future gigs. So that Ela can always heroically run away if things get too dangerous." Misha's expression immediately snapped into something deadly serious.

"Misha agrees completely," she declared with absolute conviction.

"Heroically running away is a Gryplik staple! Very important. Very prudent. Misha highly approves of Ela's priorities. Very good priorities, yes!" Before I could respond and mention that it had been more of a joke than my actual intention—not that I was against running away when things got too dangerous, of course—I was already pulled into a quick, surprisingly strong squeeze, Misha's triple-jointed arms tightening briefly around my whole body.

"Misha will have exactly what Ela needs," she promised, nodding hard.

"Ela waits. Misha returns— triumphantly!" And with that, she darted off into the labyrinth that was her store, vanishing between the mountains of merchandise, hanging racks, and stacked crates in a veritable blur of motion. As usual, I stayed right where I was. Waiting for Misha to finish her manic searches had become a bit of a staple by now, and sure enough, only a few minutes later she reappeared, arms loaded with gear and wearing the most smug, triumphant smile imaginable.

She carefully laid everything out in front of me. Three kits. Two pairs of pants. The way she beamed while doing it genuinely warmed my chest, and I found myself smiling back as I waited for the inevitable pitch.

"Misha starts with the kits," she announced proudly. She tapped the first one.

"Standard first-aid kit. More bandages, more stabilizers, more of the basics. Cheaper per item. Very good for everyday injuries. But—" she lifted a finger, "Ela needs a trauma kit as well if things go very bad." Then she tapped the second one.

"Trauma kit. More injectors, more clotting agents, more emergency-only tools. Far better for large and serious injuries. Both together are overall bigger and more expensive. Very bulky if Ela carries both kits at once." Finally, she gestured to the third, slightly slimmer case.

"Combo kit, as an alternative. Parts of both first-aid kit and trauma kit. Less of everything overall though. Some items are missing entirely. More expensive per piece," she admitted freely, "but less upfront cost and much less bulk. Easier to fit into the DuraPack alongside the drone." She nodded, visibly very satisfied with her pitch.

"Choice is ultimately about up-front price, and flexibility versus volume." Then came the pants. Misha lifted the first pair.

"Pseudo-Tier 1. Aramid-synthweave composite," Misha explained briskly.

"Similar to the bomber jacket and scarf Ela is wearing right now. Good against shrapnel, glancing cuts, low-Tier impacts. Flexible, comfortable, and very light." Misha tilted her head slightly, expression turning serious.

"Will also stop bullets," she raised her elongated index-finger for emphasis, " but kinetic energy still transfers. The pants are not as puffy as the jacket. Likely going to end up with broken bones, sprains or cracks every time. The jacket absorbs more." I couldn't help the grimace that crossed my face at the mention of bullet impacts, my thoughts immediately drifting back to the last time someone had tried to ventilate me.

The phantom aches on my back flared up almost on cue, my body helpfully remembering exactly what those impacts had felt like—even through the bomber jacket's padding.' Yeah… she's absolutely not exaggerating,'I thought sourly.' If something with that kind of force hits my leg, something's breaking. Probably multiple somethings.' She set them down and picked up the second pair with visible reverence." Real Tier 1," Misha said, eyes sparkling with pride.

"Heavy aramid-carbon-synthweave composite as the base. Much denser. Much tougher." She tugged on the fabric to demonstrate. It moved freely, like pants should, but there was a very visible stiffness to it despite that.

"Bullets," she said confidently.

"Stabs. Slices from lower-quality Tier 1 weapons. The pants can take it all. They'll get scuffed, maybe ripped here and there, but they'll hold and distribute the force a lot more than the Pseudo-Tier 1 ever could. Even proper Tier 1 weapons will need two or three solid hits to get through. Misha guarantees it!" She finished by laying both pairs side by side, hands on her hips.

"Pseudo-Tier 1 means more mobility," she summarized.

"Tier 1 means Ela can heroically run away after getting shot—or at least more likely to." This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. I let out a slow breath, eyeing both pairs one more time before looking back up at her.

"Ela would like to know prices," I said calmly.

"For each of them." While Misha froze in place, clearly about to enter a deep internal battle in Gryplik once again, I reached for the first-aid kit and popped it open. Inside was a clean, sensible layout. Three bottles of spray bandages sat snug in foam cutouts. Two thick rolls of gauze followed. There was a squat bottle of disinfectant with a smart-cap seal, an emergency blanket folded down to almost nothing, and three pairs of medical gloves packed vacuum-tight into a corner.

Tweezers and a pair of heavy-duty scissors were clipped into the lid, and beneath them, a compact body-stapler. With three refill cartridges slotted beside it.' Yeah… Right…' I wasn't exactly thrilled at the idea of ever needing to staple myself back together, but there was something deeply comforting about knowing it was there. Better to hate the option and have it than not have it at all. Finally, there were two autoinjectors of painkillers as well, tugged into the side of the case.

I closed the kit and reached for the trauma kit next. This one was heavier. The first thing I spotted were two coagulant injectors—sleek little cartridges designed to dump smart-clotting agents straight into the bloodstream. Not the same kind I had gotten from the System before—as these were unlikely to work on the same level of bullshit as that one had—but they would hopefully do the trick when it came to general bleeds. Amputations, I should definitely still avoid regardless, however.

They probably would not be able to staunch that level of bleed. A pair of trauma patches followed, nanofiber-backed slabs meant to seal catastrophic wounds long enough to prevent a full crash. There was a compact auto-splint, a neural shock suppressant injector, and a slim diagnostic strip that could give a rough read on internal bleeding and organ stress with a single press against the skin.' That should come in handy in combination with [Vital Sense]...'

Tucked into one corner was a burn-neutralizer gel canister, and another emergency blanket—thicker than the first. No stapler this time, but there was a micro-suture applicator instead, clearly meant for when things were already very bad and things needed to just get roughly put together extremely fast. I nodded slowly, satisfied with what I was seeing. My [First-Aid] Skill didn't mark anything as particularly missing in the setups so far. Finally, I took a look at the Combo Kit.

It was immediately obvious what Misha had gone for here—not a straight mash-up, but a carefully trimmed middle ground. The layout was tighter and more deliberate in design, every slot clearly fought over. Inside was one spray bandage bottle instead of three, a single thick roll of gauze, and a smaller bottle of disinfectant. One emergency blanket. Two pairs of medical gloves. The tweezers and heavy-duty scissors were still there, though the scissors were a more compact, foldable version this time.

No full body-stapler. Instead, it had the micro-suture applicator from the Trauma Kit, with a single refill—enough to close something ugly, but not meant for repeated abuse. Alongside it sat the two coagulant injectors, and a single trauma patch folded flat in a vacuum seal. There was also the same, slim diagnostic strip from the Trauma Kit tucked into the lid. No auto-splint. No neural suppressant. No burn-neutralizer gel. But the two autoinjector painkillers from the First-Aid kit had made their way over.

It clearly didn't have all the things from both kits, just as Misha had said, but everything that was in there made sense together. This was undoubtedly a very solid kit for an Operator. It felt like something designed for someone who expected to survive long enough to reach help, not someone planning to be the help for hours on end.' Honestly, kind of perfect for me, no…?' I wondered, cupping my chin and leaning back on the mountain of clothes I was sitting on.

While I had done my inspection, Misha had wandered a step away, hands clasped behind her back, muttering softly in Gryplik under her breath. I very deliberately had not tried to parse it, even as snippets slipped through—numbers, protests, reassurances, and what sounded very much like arguing with herself. She hummed. She hawed. She nodded. She frowned. Merchant instincts and Misha's generalized generosity—especially when it came to me—were clearly at war once again.

I pretended to be deeply fascinated by the quality of the trauma patches until she finally snapped back to attention, squaring her shoulders like she'd just made a life-altering decision and whipped around to me.

"Misha has the prices," she announced solemnly, squaring her shoulders before rattling them off one by one.

"First-aid kit: 135 Credits. Trauma kit: 155 Credits. Combo kit: 215 Credits. Pseudo-Tier 1 pants: 89 Credits. Tier 1 pants: 410 Credits." Yeah… that wasn't great. But it also wasn't exactly a shock either. Misha had very clearly cut me some serious slack on the pricing once again, especially in regards to the Tier 1 pants, as Tier 1 equipment generally started around 500 Credits, but that didn't make my situation any better.

I had 522 Credits to my name right now, which meant I had some room to maneuver—but not nearly enough to be carefree about it. There were a few obvious paths I could take: Both individual kits plus the Pseudo-Tier 1 pants. The Combo Kit paired with the Pseudo-Tier 1 pants. Or I could blow most of my budget on the Tier 1 pants alone and call it a day. None of those options left much breathing room, however.

And I still needed Credits for miscellaneous odds and ends such as consumables, transit and whatever else unexpected nonsense the day decided to throw at me. Leaving at least twenty or so Credits untouched felt like the bare minimum, which mentally capped my spending at around 500.

"Hm," I hummed quietly, staring at the spread of gear while I ran the numbers again. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Misha's expression droop just a little, the triumphant smugness from earlier starting to crack as I didn't share her enthusiasm about the prices. That wasn't intentional on my part—I really was just thinking—but it still stung a bit to see. Before she could spiral too far into her own mind, I spoke up.

"Ela is very happy with the prices, Misha. But Ela needs to consider what the budget can actually handle. Ela would like all of it, but Ela cannot afford everything just yet." That seemed to help a little as her smile returned to its bright self. That said… I really, really didn't want to go into debt with Misha again… but the thought crept in unbidden anyway.' What's the point of having a merchant friend if you never abuse the connection even a little?

'I argued with myself.' It's not like I wouldn't pay her back or anything. This would be, at worst, a very small, very temporary loan between friends.' And I'd proven to Misha before that I was good for my word. Still… That didn't exactly make it feel any better.' If I ask her for a loan on this,'I admitted silently,' it has to be the last time. I can't keep just leaning on her goodwill like this—even if I always pay her back. That's how things start getting ugly in a friendship.'

I took a slow, steady breath, letting it fill my chest before finally exhaling.

"Ela has made a decision," I said, meeting Misha's eyes.

"Ela currently has 500 Credits available to spend. Ela would like to give Misha all 500 now, take the Combo Kit and the Tier 1 pants, and pay the remaining balance after today's gig, if Misha is okay with this deal. Ela will have more than enough Credits after finishing the gig. But going on a job without the best possible gear to stay alive… does not feel right." And then, before she could interrupt, I finished quietly, "Ela also promises this will be the last time Ela asks for an advance like this.

Ela does not want to abuse Misha's friendship." Misha blinked. She slowly tilted her head in a way that only Gryplik—or owls, probably—could Then she frowned, tufts close to her head as she clearly tried to parse what I'd just said.

"Abusive?" Misha echoed, genuinely confused.

"Misha does not understand. Ela is a friend. Friends protect friends. Pants protect Ela. Loaning the pants is only logical." She crossed her arms, clearly unsettled by the very idea.

"There is no abuse here?" I smiled a little, even as I shook my head.

"Ela appreciates the sentiment," I said honestly.

"Really. But for Ela, constantly being in debt to a friend does not feel right. Ela wants friends to be on equal footing—more than with anyone else… Ela does not want Credits to become an unnecessary weight between Friends." Misha stared at me for a long moment… and breathed a long and dramatic sigh.

"Fine...! Misha shall indulge Ela on this, then. Even if Misha thinks Ela is being stubborn and extraordinarily dumb." She nodded once more, decisively.

"Misha agrees to the proposed trade. Tier 1 pants are loaned until fully paid off. Combo kit is sold. Remainder will be paid after the gig." Relief washed through me instantly, not just because she had agreed to the trade, but she had let me be stubborn and stupid on this. I couldn't even really articulate why it was so important to me, but it just didn't feel right to constantly be asking Misha for handouts and loans… Just didn't sit right. I immediately transferred the full 500 Credits without hesitation.

"Ela appreciates this, Misha. Truly. Misha is the best." Misha accepted the transfer with a brief flash of yellow in her eyes, then scooped up the pants and kit before handing them to me.

"Misha will still worry," she declared firmly.

"But Misha is glad Ela chooses to be reasonably protected anyway. Do not be stupid and die, friend Ela. Misha will be very, very upset." I smiled at her as I accepted the items, sliding the Combo Kit into the DuraPack right away.

"So will Ela," I replied lightly.

"Ela will be very cross if Ela dies—due to stupidity or otherwise. Ela quite likes living, if Ela is to be honest here." That earned a warm chuckle from Misha, her hair tufts wobbling in a way that was equal parts endearing and utterly ridiculous. I ended up spending the next half hour just… relaxing. No shopping, or grand plans.

Not even anything about the System, numbers, or looming gigs—barring the brief moment I took to use [Appraise] on my newly obtained pants and the Pseudo-Tier 1 version, which also confirmed they were of Gryplik make. Not that I had doubted that part. But either way, I just spent the time relaxing with Misha inside the Emporium and giving Misha some very deserved Ela-time—plus a healthy dose of Misha-time for me in return as well.

It was probably the first time I'd actually had the peace of mind to properly mess around with her thick, rope-like hair and soft tufts without my brain screaming about deadlines or danger. Which quickly let me discover—entirely by accident—that she was horribly ticklish right behind her ear tufts. She didn't hate it. She just absolutely could not handle it. The moment my fingers had brushed the spot while just stroking her hair, Misha had let out a startled chirp and nearly jumped out of her own skin.

Naturally, I had taken that as a challenge. I abused that newfound weakness shamelessly, laughing as she skittered away, only for me to corner her again a moment later. At one point, she made a break for it and scampered straight up the nearest mountain of merchandise, climbing crates and shelves with an ease that left me staring in disbelief.

'I—I'm not even sure I could've pulled that off—and I have [Elemental Balance], aka. System Bullshit, to help me out!' How she managed to move her large, spindly body like that without sending the entire stack crashing down was probably always going to remain one of life's great mysteries. Eventually, though, reality reared its ugly head. I still had an appointment. So, reluctantly, I called it quits.

I pulled on my new pants, crumpled the old pair up and stuffed them into the DuraPack—which was now getting really full—then said goodbye to a thoroughly recharged, and somehow even more energetic, Misha. As I stepped away, I made a point of tucking that warm, buoyant feeling of having had proper Misha-time away for later. With one last wave, I headed out toward the nearest general goods stores. The shopping itself was quick and mercifully cheap. Two lengths of synthweave rope. A roll of duct tape.

A packet of nails. And a small container filled with round metal beads—around twenty or so, each about the size of the tip of my index finger. All of it together ran me 9 Credits, with the metal beads somehow ending up as the most expensive part—which honestly made sense, considering I'd effectively bought a ludicrously small amount of everything. Most things in Neon Dragons were sold in bulk, even for private use.

It was rare for someone to buy just a single unit of anything, so pricing was built around that assumption. Overabundance was the name of the game. Buying less didn't mean cheaper as one would assume—it usually meant paying extra for the inconvenience you caused the store. And I couldn't exactly walk around hauling a twenty-pack of nails or ten rolls of duct tape on a gig. While definitely funny, the logistics would be a complete nightmare.

So yeah, I'd paid a bit of a premium just to get individual items in manageable quantities. Either way, the end result was the same: I had some potential ingredients for [Jury-Rigging], that were also just straight up useful on their own in a variety of situations. That little shopping detour left me with a grand total of 13 Credits to cover transportation to the OPN offices.'

Hopefully Higgins doesn't ask me to pay for my own transport to the gig,' I thought with a faint grimace, though I doubted it would come to that. Operator code was pretty clear on that sort of thing—the Face or the gig lead handled transport unless explicitly stated otherwise. And nothing had been explicitly stated otherwise. So yeah. It should be fine.' I hope.' Either way, I started making my way towards the nearest elevator to head down to the very bottom floor of Delta.

It was time to leave the Megabuilding for the second time ever and get myself some Credits and some delicious, delicious Operator-based experience…