Players Invade Cyberpunk

Chapter 1255: Chapter 407: It’s You! Hidehino Shuichi!

"Hahahaha, Huang Ban’s dog is freaking out, he’s freaking out!"

After viciously trash-talking Huang Ban Sanlang at the docks, the players bolted the moment they saw people coming after them.

Their combat level wasn’t high, and this was obviously a top-tier dungeon, hell, could even count as a world BOSS unit—way out of their league. Of course they’d bail first and talk later.

Relying on their familiarity with the city and their home turf advantage in the sewers, under normal circumstances nobody could catch them.

However, the ones chasing them weren’t those useless NCPD pigs or Agent Huangban.

But rather...

Ninja!

Ninjia!

They wore masks, their outfits were a chaotic mess, bodies packed with all kinds of modded exoskeleton parts, colors bright and loud as hell.

Why the hell are there Ninja here?!

aieeeee!

Ninja! Why Ninja!

MacArthur stared at the dark shapes dogging his heels, scared out of his mind, sweating like crazy, even his orchid was clenched tight, wishing he could sprout two more legs to run for his life.

As everyone knows, Night City is Huang Ban’s turf, and Huang Ban comes from Neon.

As Neon’s ancient assassination profession, they’ve long since spread all over the world. Humanity’s fear of Ninja has sunk into the bone, etched into our genes, so just seeing a Ninja is enough to scare you into pissing yourself!

Five-star General MacArthur once commented:

If Ninja had joined the Pacific Ocean theater in WWII, then the Japanese Army wouldn’t have dropped bombs on Pearl Harbor, they would’ve dropped Ninja.

Wait a sec...

I don’t think I’m from this world!

Then never mind.

MacArthur went all out, sprinting at a speed even Lieutenant General Walker flooring the gas couldn’t catch, and yelled on public chat:

"Big bros! Help!!! I’m being chased by a pack of Huang Ban Ninja! Anyone free to come pull a brother out of the fire?"

As for his trash mouth—no way in hell that’s ever getting fixed. He needs to lay down a fat taunt just to get through the day.

Come on, he’s Mac-Runner.

The Ninja tirelessly chasing behind him were breaking into a sweat.

"Damn it! How can this guy run this fast?"

"Hurry up and kill him, then we’ll go perform seppuku to apologize to Lord San Lang!"

"Fine, you can be my kaishakunin then."

The Ninja vaulted from balcony to balcony, knocking over who knows how many pots and bowls, turning the place into total chaos.

Even Wig, who had just walked out of the cafeteria with a plastic bag, ready to go back and enjoy a nice meal, got full-on body-checked by these Ninja.

The sushi in the plastic bag went flying all over the ground.

He stared at the now-empty plastic bag in his hand, eyes full of disbelief, sorrow crashing over him as he fell to his knees and wailed.

"Ah!!! My sushi bento!!! Buddha, have you fallen asleep?!"

Then he got up, glaring furiously at the Ninja already vanishing into the distance.

"Ninja! Kill without mercy!!!"

He ripped off his casual clothes in one go, revealing a black tight-fitting suit underneath, yanked a bedsheet off some family’s balcony laundry line and wrapped it around himself, then strode after them with huge, dramatic steps.

He caught up to that group of Ninja in just a few streets and clasped his hands together, blocking the middle of the road.

The Ninja instantly sensed the surging Ninja soul on him, and turned pale with shock.

"Nani! Who the hell are you?!"

Wig ignored Mac-Runner, who had already sold his teammate and sprinted hundreds of meters ahead, and put his palms together, very politely saying:

"Domo, nice to meet you, Ninja Killer desu."

For Ninja on the battlefield, greetings are a sacred, inviolable ritual. Once addressed, you MUST return the courtesy!

This is recorded both in the Yongle Encyclopedia and the Dead Sea Document!

The Ninja who’d been chasing Mac-Runner had no choice but to stop as well, pressing their palms together and returning the greeting to Wig:

"Domo, Ninja Killer =san, Akiyama Yuuji desu."

"Domo, Ashikaga Shun =desu, may I ask what business brings you here."

Wig immediately tossed the torn delivery bag in his hand onto the ground.

"It was a sushi delivery.

The sushi and the booze are gone.

Only karate remains!"

Having finished his haiku, he slid into a karate opening combat stance.

The Ninja opposite him finally processed what was happening.

"What? Karate! So you’re an accomplice of that criminal? Daring to offend Lord San Lang’s dignity—we will never forgive you!!!"

The clash between both sides was about to ignite.

"yeeeeeart!!"

"Oowa!"

"Iya!!"

"Oowa!!"

"Iya!!!"

Namu-san, what a ferocious battle.

I trust that readers with IQ 200 and mecha-pilot.super brains have already perfectly visualized a transcendently awesome fight that scours even the Great Dao away.

It’s just that the mortal onlookers around them were completely baffled, unable to figure out why this bunch suddenly started fighting over a few boxes of sushi, and on top of that kept making all kinds of weird noises, which was just beyond comprehension.

Amitabha.

This too is one facet of the age of Dharma’s decline.

Even the Buddha couldn’t help shedding bloody tears...

Meanwhile, while Wig’s side was going hard, Natural Curl’s side was pure tragedy.

"Aaaahhh!!! Five hundred bucks! My five hundred for today!! All gone!!!"

He collapsed over the pachinko machine, drowning in regret and grief, pounding the machine hard as if trying to force this cold gambling device to spit all his money back out.

"That’s about enough, don’t you think?"

Wagako, sitting in a wooden rocking chair, said while smoking.

"Even for you guys, you can’t smash my machines in my own shop. Otherwise I’ll just bill it under wear and tear."

Her memory of what had happened before was very hazy; she only vaguely remembered she’d planned to close these gambling parlors.

"Damn it! If I’d known, I never should’ve agreed to that guy back then."

Then he put on a fawning expression and pleaded to Wagako:

"Oh young and beautiful Wagako-san, could you raise my limit just a tiny bit? Just a little is fine."

"No, no, this old lady doesn’t do store credit. And that little girl already laid down the rule—five hundred a day, not one cent more."

Wagako was genuinely regretful. Honestly, even if she let this guy gamble here all day long, it wouldn’t matter—money no longer meant anything to her now.

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