Chapter 2

Waaah. Waaah.

A rainy night.

The sound of a baby crying came from a basket placed in front of the orphanage door.

Hearing the baby’s cry, the nun sighed and brought the baby inside the orphanage.

Located right next to a brothel, it wasn’t a rare occurrence for a newborn baby to be left in a basket at the door of this orphanage.

The nun placed the baby in an incubator donated by an orphanage-raised doctor and, as always, prayed that the baby would grow well despite the lack of resources.

100 days.

Babies who entered the orphanage in this way usually had their fate decided by the 100-day mark.

And this baby safely crossed that 100-day threshold.

Only then did the nun feel relieved and gave the baby a name.

Amon.

It meant “love.”

True to his name, Amon grew up under the nun’s love.

And on the 200th day.

“Ah… Ah-muh…”

“That’s right. Mommy. Try saying it. Mommy.”

The nuns surrounded Amon, who was starting to babble, and clapped.

Though he wasn’t their biological child, the moment the baby they had picked up called them “mommy” for the first time was one of the few joyful moments that made their hard orphanage life worthwhile.

Amon continued to babble words with ‘ㅇ’ and ‘ㅁ.’

“Eum.”

When that word came out, the nuns burst into laughter.

To think he said his own name before “mommy.”

They said this child was destined for greatness.

But the next word that came out of Amon’s mouth… was far beyond their expectations.

“Amen.”

“???”

It was truly the first word of a child destined for greatness.

***

“Hmm. I look good today too…”

A boy muttered as he looked in the mirror.

In the mirror, a handsome boy with slightly curly black hair and thick eyebrows locked eyes with Amon.

His slightly droopy eyes might give off different impressions depending on the person, but no one could deny that they were a charming feature.

Amon was satisfied with his appearance today.

Even without makeup or special care, he thought he could pass as an actor.

He was confident about that.

And why wouldn’t he be? After all, he had meticulously crafted his appearance using every resource available.

‘Sigh. Thank goodness. Thank you so much, Goddess.’

Every time he looked in the mirror, Amon’s faith in the goddess grew stronger.

Of course, he was grateful that she had given him a second chance and whispered kind words to boost his self-esteem.

But his faith didn’t grow as much as when he realized he had been born with this appearance out of all the possible options.

When he turned three and his hair grew, revealing the outline of his face, Amon offered a prayer of thanks to the goddess.

He even donated half of the pocket money he had received from the orphanage.

Looking in the mirror, Amon thought about the other appearances he could have had.

Prostate X Expert.

Naka X Prize.

Magical Girl Pretty Afro.

‘Oh, Lord.’

If he had been reincarnated with those looks, he would have seriously considered resetting his life from the age of three.

Amon’s current appearance was the kind you’d use for a character when you wanted to immerse yourself in a story.

The kind you’d use to hunt for Easter eggs, uncover hidden backstories, or aim for a true ending.

He had grown attached to other appearances for speedruns or concept playthroughs, but being reincarnated with those looks was a different story.

Thankfully, the goddess understood human hearts well.

She gave Amon the appearance he desired most.

‘I’ll keep tithing faithfully this weekend too.’

Amon was now 15.

He had no job, and his income consisted of subsidies and pocket money from small errands, but he still faithfully tithed.

Even when tithing became a hassle, every time he washed his face and looked in the mirror, his faith grew stronger, so he had never missed a tithe.

Of course, in this punk world, the tithe didn’t go to the goddess but to the potbellied priest’s gut. Amon knew that well.

But it didn’t matter.

What mattered was the heart.

No matter how much this depressing society, which dismissed love and religion as nonsense, tried to chip away at him, his faith wasn’t fragile enough to crumble under that.

End of appearance evaluation.

After washing his face, he left the bathroom.

In front of the bathroom door, his friends were lined up, waiting for their turn.

“Good morning, friends!”

The reactions to Amon’s morning greeting were mixed.

“Good morning, Amon.”

“…Tch.”

The former were his close friends, and the latter were those who found him annoying.

Originally, the latter were the majority, but after over ten years of consistent greetings, most now responded.

After washing up, breakfast awaited Amon.

The meal was meat again today.

And it would be meat in the future too.

Though technology had advanced and human dignity had gone to hell, not all advancements were bad.

At least the orphanage’s meager budget could provide enough meat for the children to fill their stomachs.

Ironically, in this punk version of America, meat was cheaper than vegetables.

The difference varied by country, but at least in the America where Amon lived, the money needed to buy one meal’s worth of vegetables could buy six meals’ worth of meat.

Thanks to that, the orphanage’s meals had a much higher ratio of meat to vegetables.

Amon cut today’s synthetic meat patty in half and put it in his mouth.

The taste was somewhat similar to a beef hamburger patty.

But to Amon, who had eaten real beef patties in his past life, it felt a bit off.

The aroma, the grease, the texture.

They had tried to replicate beef as much as possible, but it wasn’t quite there.

Amon swallowed the synthetic meat and gave the other half to the girl sitting next to him.

“Huh? You’re not eating?”

The girl looked at Amon curiously.

The girl with silver-blue hair tied up alternated her gaze between Amon and the meat.

Her name was Sonia Perfumerose.

She had been abandoned… no, entrusted to the orphanage one month before Amon.

Amon answered with a vague smile.

“You know I can’t eat much meat.”

“Because of the smell?”

“Yeah.”

Sonia pitied her childhood friend, who was sensitive to the smell and couldn’t eat much meat, and ate his portion heartily.

Gulp.

As the meat went down her throat, her ample chest briefly rose and fell.

Amon averted his gaze.

Though the world was crazy, Amon had normal sensibilities.

He didn’t have lustful thoughts about a 15-year-old girl.

Instead, he felt sorry for her as he watched her eat his portion along with her own.

‘I’m sorry.’

The reason he couldn’t eat much synthetic meat wasn’t because of the smell.

In fact, in his past life, Amon had loved meat so much that his veins might as well have been filled with pork fat and soju.

But ever since coming to this world, whenever he faced synthetic meat, he remembered the production process and found it hard to eat much.

‘How can anyone eat that?’

Insects, especially larvae and beetles, had incredible reproductive abilities.

Far surpassing cows and pigs.

In a world where efficiency and profit took precedence over all else, synthetic meat made from insects wasn’t a strange ingredient.

In a world where human rights were thrown to the dogs, what was the big deal about insect meat?

That’s why people born and raised in this world ate synthetic meat even knowing it was made from insects.

Sonia was one of them.

But Amon wasn’t.

If he didn’t know the production process, he might have been able to eat it to some extent.

But he did know.

It was all too clear.

In a game, there was a sub-quest where you infiltrated a synthetic meat factory, and the process of preparing larvae and insects was shown.

And thanks to his high-end computer, it was in 4K detail.

That scene gave Amon trauma that kept him from eating hamburgers for weeks.

If just seeing it on a screen was that bad, having it on his plate was worse.

Amon thought it was a miracle he wasn’t vomiting right then and there.

At least he was aware he was in his growth phase, so he made sure to consume the minimum amount of protein needed for growth.

‘It’s not bad for health.’

Surprisingly, in terms of health, synthetic meat was better for you than beef.

Insects weren’t given antibiotics or hormones.

And despite the punk setting, the hygiene in food factories was strictly managed, making it good for health.

Good for health…

Amon once again sent a silent thank you to his childhood friend, who was eating the insect meat… no, synthetic meat on his behalf.

***

After finishing his meal, Amon’s next task was to go out.

Holding hands with his childhood friend, Sonia, he left the orphanage.

School?

That was a luxury for orphans.

In fact, the place Amon was heading to was the complete opposite of a school.

Not a place to learn, but a place to put learning into practice.

The two headed to a building with a creaking sign that read “<Johnson Mercenary Agency>.”

As was typical for a mercenary profession, it wasn’t a respectable place, so they headed underground.

Opening the door, they were greeted by the smell of alcohol.

Passing by mercenaries clanking their mechanical arms, Amon went straight to the front desk.

Behind the counter, a bartender was wiping glasses.

The bartender was an elderly man with a goat beard and horns, a goat beastman.

Amon spoke to the goat bartender.

“Old man Johnson. Give us some hot jobs.”

“Kid, someone might misunderstand if they hear that.”

The old man scolded Amon in a panic.

As if reflecting his emotions, his mechanical right eye made whirring sounds, contracting and expanding.

No matter how messed up the world was, they didn’t hand guns to minors.

At least not openly.

“If you say it like that, I’ll get arrested. Call it errands.”

And the old man, called Johnson, was the boss of a legitimate mercenary agency, so he didn’t give mercenary jobs to teenagers.

The errands Johnson mentioned weren’t code or metaphors—they were real errands.

Amon nodded and corrected himself.

“Right. Give us some errands.”

“Got it. Is Sonia with you today?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. I’ll give you something suitable.”

The old man waved kindly at Sonia next to Amon and wrote down the list of errands for the two.

The errands were written on the back of a torn contract.

The personal information of some unnamed mercenary on the front didn’t matter to the old man.

Once the list was complete, Amon received it.

————–

– Wilton’s Butcher Shop: One box of sausages

– Dominic’s Pizza: One box of frozen pizzas

.

.

.

– Tommy’s Blacksmith Workshop: Kitchen knife

————–

Most of the errands the old man assigned were food supplies for the tavern.

Seeing the long list, Amon stuffed the paper into his pocket.

Amon checked the promised payment.

Compared to the hourly wage of a regular delivery person, it was ridiculously low.

But Amon didn’t show any discontent.

Johnson only gave delivery jobs to orphans because it was cheaper than hiring delivery people, and if Amon demanded more, he wouldn’t even get that much.

Knowing that, Amon took on the delivery jobs without complaint.

Still, Johnson was one of the kinder ones.

“The kitchen knife is a bit urgent. Sorry, but I’d like you to deliver that first.”

“Leave it to me.”

“I’ll give you a bonus for that.”

“I won’t refuse.”

At least the bonus for additional requests was guaranteed.

Amon left the agency with Sonia.

Leaving the smell of alcohol behind, the smoggy air greeted them.

Amon filled his lungs with exhaust fumes and moved on.

Today, too, he lived on in Punk City.

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