Waaah. Waaah.
On a rainy night, the sound of a baby crying came from a basket placed in front of the orphanage door.
Hearing the baby’s cries, a nun sighed and brought the child inside the orphanage.
In this orphanage, located right next to a brothel, it wasn’t rare to find a newborn in a basket at the door.
The nun placed the newborn in an incubator donated by a doctor from the orphanage, praying as always that the baby would grow well despite the lack of resources.
100 days.
Children who entered the orphanage this way usually had their fate determined based on whether they survived those 100 days.
And this child had safely passed that 100-day mark.
Only then did the nun breathe a sigh of relief and name the baby.
Amon.
It meant “love.”
True to his name, Amon grew up under the nun’s love.
And on the 200th day.
“Amu… Amumu…”
“That’s right. Say it. Mom.”
As Amon slowly began to speak, the nuns surrounded him and clapped.
Even though he wasn’t a child born from their own womb, the moment this picked-up child called the nuns “Mom” for the first time was one of the few rewarding moments in their hard orphanage life.
Amon continued to babble words containing ‘ng’ and ‘m.’
“Um, um…”
When that word came out, the nuns burst into laughter.
Who would have thought he would say his name instead of “Mom” first?
They believed this child would surely grow up to be great.
However, the word that followed Amon’s lips was something far beyond their expectations.
“Amon.”
That was the first word of a truly great child.
“Hmm. Looking good today too…”
The boy murmured while looking into the mirror.
In the mirror, a handsome boy with slightly curly black hair and thick eyebrows met Amon’s gaze.
Depending on the person, the impression given by his slightly droopy eyes might vary, but no one could deny that it was a charming feature.
Amon was satisfied with his appearance today as well.
Even without any makeup or grooming, he felt he was at least on the level of an actor.
He had that conviction.
And rightly so, as he had meticulously crafted his appearance using all kinds of resources.
“Phew. I’m relieved. Thank you so much, Goddess.”
Every time Amon looked in the mirror, his faith in the goddess grew stronger.
Of course, he was grateful for her giving him a second chance and whispering kind words to instill his self-esteem.
However, the faith he had when he realized he was born with this appearance among all those possibilities had not grown as much.
When he turned three and his hair began to grow and his facial contours started to become visible, Amon offered a prayer of gratitude to the goddess.
He even donated half of the pocket money he received from the orphanage so far.
Whenever he looked in the mirror, various appearances that could have been his flashed through Amon’s mind.
A man’s expert.
Nakashi-san.
Magical Girl Pretty Afro.
“Oh, my Lord.”
If he had been reincarnated with that appearance, he would have seriously considered resetting his life from the age of three.
Currently, Amon’s appearance resembled that of a character he used when he wanted to immerse himself in a story from his past life.
He mainly used it to discover Easter eggs or hidden backstories, see true endings, or pursue a completely happy ending.
Although he had developed some affection for other appearances he used during speedruns or concept plays, reincarnating with those looks was a different story altogether.
Fortunately, the goddess understood human hearts well.
She granted Amon the appearance he desired most.
“I will faithfully give my tithe this weekend too.”
Currently, Amon was 15 years old.
He had no job, and his income consisted only of allowances from small errands and subsidies, but he was consistently giving his tithe from that money.
Even when the tithe became bothersome, as long as he washed his face in the morning and looked in the mirror, his faith grew stronger, so he had never missed giving his tithe until now.
Of course, he was well aware that in this punk world, the tithe was not for the goddess but rather converted into the belly fat of a gluttonous pastor.
But that didn’t matter to him.
What mattered was the heart.
No matter how much this gloomy society, which dismissed love and religion as nonsense, pressured him, his faith was not fragile enough to crumble that easily.
The evaluation of his appearance ended there.
***
After washing his face, he exited the bathroom.
In front of the bathroom door, friends were lining up, waiting for their turn.
“Good morning, friends!”
Amon’s morning greeting received two very different responses.
“Good morning, Amon.”
“…Tch.”
The former was from Amon’s close friends, while the latter was from those who found him unlucky.
Originally, the latter group was overwhelming in numbers, but after more than ten years of consistent greetings, most of them began to respond to him now.
Once he finished washing his face, breakfast awaited Amon.
Breakfast was meat again today.
And it would likely be meat in the future as well.
Although technology had advanced and human dignity had become a mess, development wasn’t entirely bad.
At least with the meager budget of the orphanage, they could secure enough meat for the children to fill their bellies.
Ironically, in the punk world of America, meat was cheaper than vegetables.
While the price differences varied from country to country, at least in the America Amon lived in, he could buy six meals’ worth of meat for the price of one meal’s worth of vegetables.
Thanks to that, the orphanage’s meal menu had a much higher proportion of meat compared to vegetables.
Amon cut the synthetic meat patty in half and put one half in his mouth.
The taste was somewhat reminiscent of a hamburger beef patty.
However, for Amon, who had tasted real beef patties in his past life, it felt slightly awkward.
The aroma, greasiness, and texture were all off.
Although they tried to replicate beef as closely as possible, it still fell short of perfection.
Amon swallowed the synthetic meat and handed the remaining half to the girl sitting next to him.
“Hmm? Aren’t you eating?”
The girl looked at Amon questioningly.
With her silver hair tied up, the girl alternated her gaze between Amon and the meat.
Her name was Sonia Perfume Rose.
She was a girl who had been abandoned… no, entrusted to the orphanage a month earlier than Amon.
With a vague smile, Amon replied,
“You know I can’t eat much meat.”
“Is it because of the smell?”
“Yeah.”
Sonia looked at her friend with pity as he couldn’t eat much meat due to the smell, while she happily devoured it herself.
Gulp.
As the meat slid down her throat, her ample chest briefly rose and fell.
Amon turned his gaze in another direction.
Even though the world was insane, Amon still possessed normal senses.
A 15-year-old girl wouldn’t stir any lewd thoughts in him.
Instead, seeing her finish both her portion and his made him feel a sense of guilt toward her.
‘I’m sorry.’
The reason he couldn’t eat much synthetic meat wasn’t because of the smell.
In his previous life, Amon loved meat so much that instead of blood, the fat from pork belly and soju flowed through his veins.
However, after coming to this world, whenever he faced synthetic meat, the memories of its production process made it impossible for him to eat much.
‘How can you eat that?’
Insects, especially larvae and beetles, have remarkable reproductive capabilities.
They surpass cows and pigs in this regard.
In a world where efficiency and profit take precedence over all values, synthetic meat made from insects is not such an unusual ingredient.
In a society that has cast aside human rights, what’s the big deal about insect meat?
Thus, people born and raised in this world, even knowing that the raw materials for synthetic meat come from insects, still eat it without hesitation.
Sonia knew this and still ate well.
But Amon couldn’t.
If only he didn’t know how it was made, he might have been able to eat it to some degree.
But he couldn’t.
He had a vivid mental image of it.
In a game, there’s a sub-quest where you infiltrate a synthetic meat factory, and there’s a scene where the larvae and insects are processed.
The graphics were so good that he could see it in 4K detail.
That scene left him with trauma that kept him from eating hamburgers for weeks.
Seeing it on the screen was one thing, but having it served on his tray was another.
Amon thought it was amazing that he wasn’t throwing up right then and there.
At least he was aware that he was in his growth phase, so he made sure to consume the minimum amount of protein needed to not hinder his development.
‘It’s not unhealthy.’
Surprisingly, if you look at health alone, synthetic meat is generally considered better for you than beef.
Insects aren’t fed antibiotics or hormones.
Even surprisingly for a punk world, the hygiene of food factories is managed thoroughly, so it’s good for health.
Health-wise…
Amon silently thanked his childhood friend, who was eating the insect… no, synthetic meat on his behalf.
After finishing their meal, Amon’s next task was to go out.
Holding hands with his childhood friend Sonia, he left the orphanage.
School?
Such a place was a luxury for orphans.
Rather, the place Amon was heading to was located directly opposite the school.
It was a place of practical learning, not a place to learn.
They were headed for a building with a creaky sign that read <Johnson Mercenary Brokerage>.
As is customary for the mercenary profession, it wasn’t a reputable place, so they headed underground.
Upon opening the door, they were welcomed by the pungent smell of alcohol.
Passing by mercenaries with mechanical arms clanking, Amon headed straight for the front desk.
Behind the counter, an elderly man with a goatee and impressive goat horns was polishing a glass.
Amon spoke to the goat-like bartender.
“Hey, Johnson! Give me some exciting work!”
“You little punk! Someone might misunderstand if they hear that.”
The old man gasped, scolding Amon.
In a reflection of his emotions, his mechanical right eye was making mechanical sounds as it contracted and expanded.
No matter how crazy the world was, they wouldn’t hand a gun to a minor and make him work.
At least, not openly.
“If you say it like that, I might get caught. You should call it a simple errand.”
Since the old man named Johnson was the head of a legitimate mercenary brokerage, he wouldn’t have minors doing mercenary work.
The errand Johnson mentioned wasn’t a slang term or a metaphor, but a real errand.
Nodding his head, Amon corrected himself.
“Right. Please give me some errands.”
“Got it. Today, Sonia is with you too?”
“Yes.”
“Got it. I’ll give you something appropriate.”
The old man waved kindly at Sonia beside Amon and started to write a list of errands for the two.
The errands were written on the back of a torn contract.
The personal information of an unknown mercenary written on the front was of no concern to the old man.
Once the list was complete, Amon received it.
Wilton’s Butcher Shop: One box of sausages.
Dominos Pizza: One box of frozen pizza
Tommy’s Forge: Kitchen knife
Most of the items the old man requested from the children were ingredients to be used at the tavern.
Today’s order was quite large, and Amon stuffed the paper into his pocket.
He checked the promised payment.
Compared to the typical hourly wage of a delivery person, the amount was absurdly high.
But Amon didn’t show any sign of discontent.
He knew that Johnson had them do delivery jobs because it was cheaper than hiring a delivery person, and if he tried to raise his price, he might not get paid at all.
Understanding this well, Amon took on the delivery tasks without complaint.
Still, Johnson was one of the kinder types.
“The kitchen knife is a bit urgent. I’m sorry, but I’d like you to deliver it first.”
“Just leave it to me.”
“In exchange, I’ll give you a bonus.”
“I won’t refuse.”
At least the bonus for additional orders was guaranteed.
Amon left the brokerage with Sonia.
Once they escaped the smell of alcohol, they were welcomed by the musty air.
Amon filled his lungs with the smoke and moved forward.
Today, he continues to live in Punk City.
Holy shit🧐