Chapter 4
How long had I been asleep.
When I came to, a strange “something” entered my field of view.
Of course, it wasn’t something as clichéd as an “unknown ceiling,” but rather an “unidentified system message.”
[Achievement Unlocked]
Met the genius modular, “Miyu.”
Achievement points: +200
“Achievement points?”
That term had never appeared in [Cyber‑Module’s Necromancer].
But since I’d spent quite some time hopping around NovelBins, I could easily guess what it meant.
“I see. So this is my special perk.”
A special ability or cheat often given to characters who are transmigrated into NovelBins.
Since I, too, had become one of those transmigrated(?) individuals, it seemed a perk had been granted to me.
“I have no idea what to use them for, I never felt the need, and I don’t know how useful they’ll be… well, having them won’t hurt.”
Judging by the name “points,” I assumed they could function like currency used to purchase special items or that if I accumulated enough, rewards would be granted.
Also, judging from the achievement’s description, it seemed likely that every time I interacted with someone related to the original story’s plot or solved an important event, I’d receive points.
“A perk is the driving force that moves the transmigrated protagonist. Perhaps the entity that brought me into this world intended it that way.”
Well, it wasn’t entirely surprising—it was somewhat predictable. In any case, I’d need to investigate this part more later.
Honestly, at this moment, “achievement points” didn’t matter to me at all. There was a far more important issue I needed to solve right now.
And that was:
“Where is Miyu?”
To see one of my favorites… no, to meet the only person in this world who could save my life.
I carefully lifted myself and searched for her appearance.
The surroundings were filled with strange machinery and surgical tools. On the monitor in front of me, someone’s biometric data—including heart rate—was being displayed in real time.
Looking more closely, it was information about my body.
A moment too late, I realized the place I was lying on was a surgical bed. It looked exactly like the kind found in dental clinics.
“Did that girl bring me here?”
Because I had clearly collapsed near the entrance. Upon closer inspection, electrodes were attached all over my body.
It was reasonable to infer that Miyu had moved me here and then performed the examination.
“She must have seen signs I was waking up and panicked and fled.”
I’d never seen her properly before, but I knew her personality quite well.
Despite possessing the world’s most advanced technology, she had zero self-esteem.
She was so extremely wary of strangers that she holed herself up in a laboratory, never going outside.
The fact that the entrance was concealed as a vending machine also meant she didn’t want to receive visitors directly.
“She’s the ultimate shut‑in otaku, so even if she got scared, she wouldn’t run outside.”
In other words, she was simply hiding somewhere nearby.
I turned my gaze to scan through the piles of things.
Less than ten seconds later, I spotted something trembling in one corner of the room.
“Got you.”
What I found looked like a “snake with a mechanical body.”
But since I knew exactly what it was, I disconnected the electrodes attached to me and approached it.
The mechanical snake shook its head in alarm, but I didn’t stop.
When I cleared away some of the items around it, what popped out was a small, pretty girl.
“Finally met you, Miyu.”
“…?!”
It was a silent scream.
The girl discovered in the corner seemed on the verge of fainting from the one sentence I’d uttered.
Regardless, I calmly examined her appearance.
Her long, glossy black hair with a bluish tint reached past her waist down to her ankles, and her blue eyes glistened with fear and tears.
The mechanical apparatus, which earlier I compared to a snake, was connected to her sacrum at the base of her spine.
“This is dangerous, so I’ll move it out of the way.”
I forced the stun gun out of her tight grip and flung it elsewhere.
Even though she was holding it “backwards,” so she probably couldn’t have used it properly, I removed it just in case she might harm herself.
“…!”
Miyu’s face grew even more terrified after having her self-defense weapon taken.
Perhaps thinking even her last resort was gone, she clasped her hands together, bowed her head in prayer, and poured out words like a rapid-fire gun.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please don’t kill me! Please spare my life!”
“…What did you say?”
“I‑I’m sorry! I‑It was a slip of the tongue! Please forgive me…!”
Her trembling posture evoked both pity and a mischievous urge to tease her a bit more.
After all, it was the person I’d only ever longed for in my mind, now standing right before me.
Was this how a fan feels when meeting their idol in person?
If it had been the original me, I’d have lost all control, screaming in excitement or grinning ear‑to‑ear.
But perhaps fortunately, Aaron’s ego suppressed such frivolous behavior.
Taking a short breath, I composed myself and calmed her down.
“Rest assured. I have no intention of harming you.”
If by any chance this damn body’s impulses caused even a scratch, I’d sooner cut off its hand to prevent it.
“…R‑Really?”
“Yes. I just came here to find a way to cure this miserable disease.”
“You‑You mean the Genetic Overcast?”
“So, it seems you finished the examination while I was unconscious.”
“I‑I’m sorry! Please don’t hit me…!”
“I’m not hitting you. I’m not reproaching you either. On the contrary, it’s good that the conversation is moving faster for me… Ahem!”
Perhaps stirred, I felt a cough coming on again.
Miyu hastily stood up and supported my body.
“A‑Are you alright?”
Cough! Cough!
“T‑This way… carefully…!”
She helped me back onto the surgical bed. Aaron’s ego strongly recoiled at someone touching my body, but I forcibly suppressed it.
After laying me down, Miyu reconnected the electrodes as she spoke cautiously.
“N‑Nanomachines analyze the user’s information at the genetic level and construct their own code, evolving by themselves… B‑But in theory, there’s an astronomically small chance that during that process, an error occurs… and that…”
“Yes. It leads the user to death.”
If the human body is likened to a smartphone, nanomachines are the operating system upon which modules function.
For example, if a module called “alloy skeleton” was installed, then as quickly as within seconds—or as slowly as over several days—the nanomachines would change the user’s bones into an alloy material based on the module’s data.
Conversely, if that module was removed, the nanomachines would amplify the user’s regenerative ability to restore the original bones.
But what if the nanomachines responsible for managing the entire process of bodily modification and regeneration malfunctioned?
They could cause fatal issues like metal bones growing in the lungs, or skin failing to regenerate so the muscles remain exposed.
In my case, there was no noticeable change in appearance, but the symptom was metal growing in various parts of my body.
Right now, I was regularly taking suppressants that dissolve foreign substances in my body, which helped keep the worst symptom limited to slightly ragged respiratory tissues whenever I coughed.
But if metal started growing in the region of my heart’s aorta, I would lose my life immediately.
“My attending physician said it was an incurable disease.”
Genetic Overcast.
That was the name of the disease I was suffering from.
No—actually, even that wasn’t an official disease name. It existed only “theoretically.”
Stingray Corporation advertises their combat nanomachine “Adam” as flawless. So they had to make such a disease a nonexistent lie.
They quietly erased the few patients who developed it—an event that, by astral odds, occurred—pretending they never existed.
It was cheaper to erase the patients entirely than to spend enormous research funds developing treatments for a minuscule number of them.
“Even the firstborn of the family was no exception.”
Moreover, this was their opportunity to naturally dispose of the monster they had created—me, Aaron Stingray.
Even if a secret treatment was developed, it was highly unlikely they’d use it on me.
In other words, the only one I could rely on was that terrified girl in front of me.
“Modular Miyu. Let me ask you bluntly: can you cure this disease?”
In the original story, Miyu used her technology to revive the almost‑dead protagonist as an Adaptée with powerful cheat abilities.
So I judged that she might well be able to cure my disease.
‘If she says no, I die.’
All the plans I’d made were premised on “Miyu’s technique curing my disease.”
If the world’s top nanomachine technician judged it “impossible,” there’d be no way forward.
Going to the Academy, meeting the protagonist and other characters there, observing their actions at a safe distance—all of that would become impossible.
“…I want an honest answer. Can I survive?”
With a tense heart, I waited for her lips to move.
I felt like a criminal about to receive a death sentence.
“Um… th‑that is…”
Miyu’s eyes flickered here and there.
It was hard to tell whether her hesitation was simply nervousness in front of a stranger or guilt at crushing my hope.
Soon, she delivered her verdict.
“I‑I can fix it, buuuut…”
Ahhh.
A sigh escaped me before I realized it.
It was hard to describe the feeling.
Although I should’ve jumped with joy, I simply felt silent relief.
Then Miyu added a caveat.
“B‑but there are a few problems…”
“Problems? Money? If you need a fee, name your price—even twice that much, I’ll prepare it.”
“N‑No! It’s not that I need that kind of money… I’d accept it if offered, but that’s not the problem…”
She shook both hands forward, refusing the idea.
Her mechanical tail swayed, emphasizing her meaning.
“F‑first, after treatment, most of the modules you’re currently using will become unusable… Is that all right?”
“Unusable? Why?”
“It’s impossible to fix the nanomachines inside your body that are already causing Genetic Overcast… The only way would probably be injecting ‘Pandora’… ah! ‘Pandora’ is the name of the nanomachine I developed…”
“I see.”
I already knew.
The one who saved the original protagonist Shade was also her home‑made nanomachine called “Pandora.”
“Th‑that is… um… to explain the principle correctly…”
“That’s enough.”
No matter how technical she got, I wouldn’t understand.
And Miyu was the type who'd geek out and talk nonstop for hours within her field.
If my body were healthy, maybe I’d listen—but even though I liked her, I didn’t have the luxury right now.
“In short, you mean to replace the nanomachine ‘Adam’ currently in my body. We can’t expect the combat modules designed for ‘Adam’ to be fully compatible with ‘Pandora.’”
Compatibility was a major issue.
Even among Adaptées who received the same “Adam,” depending on the user, certain modules might or might not be usable.
I decided quickly.
“I don’t care which it is.”
To be honest, it stung a bit.
The total sum level of the 26 combat modules I’d equipped exceeded 100.
Most were “normal” modules rather than “Arcaneal,” but each possessed top‑tier powerful performance.
Losing the ability to use them meant losing the terrifying might Aaron had displayed in the original story.
But…
“It’s a choice I have no choice but to make.”
Life or power.
If forced to choose between the two, obviously it was the former.
Abilities could be rebuilt, but life, once lost, couldn’t be regained.
“It was a pipe dream from the start anyway.”
Like I said before, I’d deactivated all my modules to block the disease’s erosion.
There was no need to cling to power I couldn’t even use.
Also, based on my earlier test against the Blood Wolves, even without combat modules, this body could handle most Adaptées in a single blow.
No need to worry about a power vacuum.
And most importantly…
“You never know. I might awaken a new power.”
In the original, Shade awakened a special power through Miyu’s “Pandora.”
Likewise, if I replaced “Adam” with “Pandora,” I might gain some special power.
All things considered, sacrificing my combat modules to treat the disease was vastly advantageous…
“Wait a moment.”
Something suddenly occurred to me.
I stared at empty air, mumbling words inside my mind, trying various approaches.
Then… at some point…
“Point Shop.”
As soon as I whispered it inwardly, a new window appeared in my vision.
In the bottom right corner was the text “200 Point.”
I quickly scanned the list in the shop window and nodded to myself with satisfaction.
Weakened?
That was an unnecessary concern.