Chapter 5 Part 2

Five minutes later.

Detective Dustin, having fished a chocolate bar from his pocket and gulped it down to recover from the low blood sugar, caught a whiff of a peculiar aroma.

It was strangely familiar, the sort that usually preceded his single colleagues blowing up the kitchen.

The freshly recovered detective: “…!!”

He sprang up, nearly fainting again, and dragged his weakened body toward the source of the smell at top speed. “Cut the fire! Cut the fire! Whatever appliance you’re using, turn it off!!”

Hastur was still crouched by the oven, watching the cod pie steam. His habit of seeing things through kept him from obeying Detective Dustin’s shouts.

Besides, it was only thirty seconds away! Almost—

Boom—

The oven gleefully blew itself up.

Detective Dustin nearly passed out from shock.

Only when he spotted a dust-covered, existential-crisis-stricken yellow round head drifting out of the smoke did he let out a huge sigh of relief. “—Go rest in the hall. I’ll handle it, okay?”

“…”

The egg yolk jellyfish said nothing.

The egg yolk jellyfish sank into persistent gloom.

With Hastur’s abilities and intellect, few things stumped him once he focused on learning them.

He decided the oven’s explosion wasn’t his fault. It must have been defective beforehand, leading to the mishap.

This was just a game mechanic designed to frustrate players and block quest completion.

Detective Dustin had to coax and cajole to lure the wilted egg yolk jellyfish back to the hall. Then he tied on an apron and got to work on some cooking fit for the living.

Ten minutes later, he emerged with oatmeal and some toasted bread. “I made a portion for Ithaqua too. Can’t feed a patient anything too heavy.”

“…”

The egg yolk jellyfish ate in silence, leaving Dustin torn between consoling him and holding back.

On second thought, lives came first. Telling white lies now would be tantamount to abetting suicide—and there was still Ithaqua to look after! He couldn’t exactly count on those Hawk Gang thugs to come back and cook for these two, could he?

Dustin scrubbed a hand over his face. “You really need to hire a cook.”

He wolfed down his porridge and toast in short order, then stood to take his leave, climbing into his patrol car—which doubled as his crash pad—and driving off.

“…”

Hastur brooded stormily in the hall for a moment longer, until he heard the careful clip-clop of hooves as Ithaqua edged down from upstairs.

“The detective’s gone? Dean, what was that explosion just now?” Ithaqua looked around in confusion, taking in the charred kitchen.

The promise to be a father pulled Hastur from the aftertaste of failure. He turned his face away as if he hadn’t heard the question, merely nudging the plate in front of him toward Ithaqua.

“Come eat. After that, you destroy all the drug-making gear the Hawk Gang left behind. I’ll handle Nissen.”

“Then we’ll talk about the case.”

He grabbed his gun and headed to the basement.

On the way down, he fished the quest reward from the Yellow Robe.

His unique eye structure let him see as clearly in pitch darkness as in daylight. He scrutinized the tattered page and noticed splatters of some golden liquid—likely Golden Honey Wine—that had blurred much of the text, leaving only fragments:

【……Golden Honey Wine, at this time, the body and soul will fall into stasis, and the Byakhee will carry us through space……

~~~

……holding the Seal of the King in Yellow, play the Stone Flute, and loudly recite the following incantation:】

What was the incantation?

Hastur instinctively flipped to the next page, only to realize he held just a scrap that couldn’t be turned.

“…”

The egg yolk jellyfish grew gloomy once more. Dragging his heavy Electromagnetic Railgun, he stepped into Nissen’s Little Black Room.

Pure darkness enveloped him, warm and comforting as womb waters.

His restless robe hems gradually settled. He pressed the cold gun barrel under Nissen’s jaw. “Don’t pretend to be asleep.”

“Answer the question: Have you heard of the Cradle Cult?”

The air thickened with irritation—the middle-aged human was annoyed at being caught faking.

But Hastur’s gun forced a smile from him. “Cradle Cult? Yeah, yeah, that cult. I hear lots of politicians and tycoons go there to pray for peace and quiet. I’ve even been to one of their—ah!”

Hastur withdrew the gun after smacking Nissen across the side with it, then pressed it to the back of the fallen man’s head. “Only the truth. No lies.”

Nissen trembled under the barrel. “…I, I only heard street-level rumors. They say the Cradle Cult’s ‘investing everywhere,’ with believers all over…”

Hastur prodded the back of his head with the gun barrel. “And?”

“I don’t… know…”

Nissen seemed to sense his life’s countdown ticking away. He began to defend himself frantically and desperately. “I’m not a bad person, Dean sir! I’m not! I was just blinded by that bounty for a moment! I figured that generous gentleman was willing to shell out so much for a disabled kid—maybe he’d just buy him back to keep as a pet? Those pets in Nuri District live lives of pure luxury!”

Nissen tried to crawl to his feet, trembling as he clutched at Hastur’s yellow robe. “You understand, right, Dean sir? Staying alive is what matters most. Dignity? Face? What’s the point? Can they pay for the kid’s life-saving surgery? Can they buy fine clothes and gourmet food? No!”

Lies, pain, regret, hatred… A tangled storm of raw emotions enveloped the undignified man. Without even being tortured, he convulsed and curled into a ball.

It was as if he’d once lost something to naive ideals. The agony had shattered him, forcing him to reassemble a twisted, unrecognizable version of himself.

Nissen still gripped Hastur’s yellow robe, his cheek pressed to the cold floor. He muttered in a daze, “No point… meaningless…”

The dot representing Nissen flickered on the map, shifting back and forth between neutral yellow and hostile red.

Hastur considered his apparent rejection by the kitchen. He raised the gun barrel slightly. “Can you cook?”

Nissen froze, then his eyes bulged with wild joy. “Yes! I can!”

The dot for Nissen jumped to yellow.

But Hastur habitually sniffed the air.

Ecstasy, relief… and the serpentine scheming buried deepest in his emotions.

Without so much as blinking, Hastur pulled the trigger on the neutral yellow target.

“Bzzz…”

Blue light ripped through the darkness, blasting apart Nissen’s beaming face—and all the plots lurking behind that grin.

Hastur turned and left the little black room without pause, just as he had countless times on the job, walking away from targets who’d tried to play mind games with him but always ended up dead.

He climbed the narrow, steep stone stairs, layer by layer, toward the light above. He didn’t dwell on what Nissen had been through or why he’d become this way.

Instead, he pondered:

Could his cooking skills really not be saved? He felt success wasn’t far off—maybe a new oven would do the trick?

At the end of the day, why did his lair have to be stocked with kitchen tools that rejected him? Was that fair?

Still brooding, Hastur hadn’t climbed halfway up the building when he pulled open the building interface. He performed a “one-click clear” on the kitchen, then bought the “Basic Kitchen Kit” as recommended by the shop.

The 140,000 building funds he’d swept from Dr. Raymond dwindled to 110,000 in an instant.

But Hastur thought it was money well spent. His lair would only house kitchenware friendly to him!

Eager for redemption, he floated swiftly up to the next floor and entered the kitchen—now spotless and sparkling after the cleanup and refit, with bright windows and clean counters.

The old, assorted hazardous tools were gone. The basic kit didn’t provide much in the way of cooking gear.

Just a brand-new gas stove guaranteed “no fire hazards,” a larger fridge, and a sink with hot-and-cold water switching.

It was easy for Hastur to spot the pop-up he wanted to see:

【Gas Stove: It won’t explode, but it can sulk and shut off. It has decided that if you insist on using it, it will give you the silent treatment!】

【Fridge: This accommodating fridge welcomes food from anyone—except you.】

【Sink: Are you just here to wash your hands? Not to prep veggies? Right? Right? Right?】

“…”

Hastur’s wobbling wavy form came to a halt.

Those 30,000 units were down the drain.

——No. There were other ways to salvage this investment.

Hastur spent three minutes psyching himself up. His steps grew heavy (he sank three centimeters lower while floating, mood visibly down). He returned to the office, fired up the ancient computer that lagged for an hour per click, and posted a job listing for a cook.

Hiring a chef just to not waste the kitchenware was no different from paying twelve bucks shipping for a one-dollar item!

But as a guardian, Hastur wouldn’t let Ithaqua see his impulsive spending blunder. He asked calmly, “Did you hear my conversation with the detective?”

Ithaqua eyed his foster father, who was three centimeters shorter and clearly in a foul mood. He hesitated, then nodded. “You’re really invested in this case?”

He no longer cared about his father’s life. The man had abandoned him at the orphanage gate, severing their bond for good.

Hastur didn’t hide it. “I’m interested in the Cradle Cult.”

“But to keep tracking the case, you’ll need to look human again. Over the next few days, I’ll experiment with further transformations on you—see if I can shape a humanoid disguise.”

Reverting to full human was impossible. The more mental pollution input, the less human Ithaqua would become. A human disguise, though? That held promise.

The game’s anti-addiction reminder popped up again. Hastur quickly sold the now-useless little black room, gave Ithaqua a few more instructions along with 10,000 units for emergencies, logged out, and headed to work.

The endless eight-hour legal shift, plus three hours of “voluntary overtime,” crawled by like a snail window-shopping.

Once the last case was wrapped, Hastur bolted back to H-1 District at a speed that seemed casual but betrayed his impatience, logging into the devious game.

——The login PV had changed scenes.

Hastur glanced idly and saw an ancient black stone tablet. Its surface was flaking, leaving only scattered words on the inscription:

[Hastur][Azathoth][Satha-Hegla]…

Hastur. Azathoth. Satha-Hegla.

His impatience shifted to focus. He scanned the slowly rotating text, and at the very bottom found one intact sentence:

[H’ ephaisurely nafl’fhtagn]

They would awaken.

The PV screen went dark.

【September 29th · 11:00 p.m. · Phoenix District · Orphanage】

The hazy light from the dean’s office spilled into view. The dim yellow bulb with its reddish tint resembled a sunset trapped in its lampshade—one more flicker, and it would plunge below the horizon, surrendering the continent to darkness.

“…”

Hastur’s thoughts still reeled.

He’d never imagined that the language he alone spoke in reality—which the research center deemed a “primal ancestral tongue” with “no known cases of others awakening to it”—would appear in the game.

Was this the devs’ design? Were the devs one of his kind?

Why not meet him in the real world, instead hiding these plot points in the game?

What were they trying to tell him?

Lost in these tangled thoughts, his hand drifted to the building interface. Without thinking, he remodeled the orphanage to his tastes once more.

The nesting instinct soothed him, calming his mind.

He looked up, out the open window.

No night owls here. In this cyber age, such ancient creatures seemed extinct.

Phoenix District’s night blended serene quiet with distant clamor.

Far-off gunfire echoed faintly, making the orphanage’s surroundings seem all the more peaceful and idyllic—perfect for a moonlit stroll.

Hastur rose slowly, crossing the hall of chaotic art and the twisting, irregular corridors. He pushed open the orphanage’s front door, savoring the outdo—

Hm? Pushed open the front door—

“…”

Hastur paused expressionlessly, then charged at the door again with his full strength of 1 point!

The door didn’t budge. Only the chain on the bolt swayed, its arc a mocking smirk.

Hastur stared calmly at the door for a few seconds, then opened the building panel and ruthlessly sold the humiliating barrier!

Night wind rushed in.

Hastur squinted, basking in the moonlight for a few seconds. He savored the acrid chemical waste in the breeze, the dry grit that stung the skin, the fresh, sickly-sweet tang of human blood… Human blood?

Hastur’s gaze snapped downward. At the threshold lay… a patch of air…?

——Impossible. The thick metallic scent came from right there. How could nothing be there?

Hastur immediately swiped at the air with his robe’s hem. Still nothing.

Could his senses be off?

Under the moonlight, an egg yolk jellyfish puzzledly circled the empty space a few times. Then it hit him:

【Intelligence: 3 (You have a brain, but not much. Even with clues dancing right in front of you, all you see is air.)】

Hastur fell silent for several seconds. He pulled up Ithaqua’s status panel and winced at the intellect stat several times higher than his own. “—Ithaqua.”

Good thing he’d rescued Ithaqua not long ago… This was the cyberpunk version of “you are my eyes.”