"Dios mío?! You two are for real?!"
Jack Welles let out a shocked exclamation as he stepped into Riku's room.
"Of course, man. Did you get in touch with the shinpū to find buyers?"
Riku shot a glance at Jack Welles. He'd already made up his mind—these cuts of meat were gonna fetch a high price. This wasn't your run-of-the-mill organic niku, after all. Not chicken, not beef, not lamb—nothing ordinary like that.
"Naturally, brother. The shinpū sent me to check the goods. You know how it is—being the middleman's all about reputation."
Jack Welles caught a whiff of the "ka-ching" in the air and made a beeline for the freezer.
"Take a look. Fresh as it gets."
Riku stepped over to explain the types of meat. He got why the shinpū was being cautious.
"You sure this niku is safe?"
Jack was asking on behalf of the shinpū. Clearly, the guy cared about keeping his rep clean.
He needed to confirm the meat was legit before finding buyers for Riku. If something went wrong, Jack would get dragged down too.
"If the shinpū's got doubts, he can have it tested. A clean cert could jack up the price even more."
Riku threw his hands up like a little bear, shrugging. He didn't have fancy lab gear to prove the meat was 100% safe, did he? All he could guarantee was that it was fresh, sourced from animals that looked healthy—no obvious diseases or anything sketchy.
But if the [Limit System] was as strict as it seemed about filtering living things, maybe it could zap out any bacteria or parasites in the meat. Who knows?
"No need for that. Black market folks don't trust certs anyway."
Jack said casually. It's the black market, after all—everything could be fake.
Food factories and biotech corps? Their inspectors can be bought. For a while, every piece of organic niku on the black market came with a "quality cert."
Turned out, those were useless. Nobody believed them, and people just ended up wasting yen on fake assurances. So, eventually, no one bothered anymore.
"When you sell, just mark it as wild-hunted."
Riku was all about keeping it real. He wasn't claiming it was perfect, but it sure looked fine—pure, natural, genuine vibes.
"Tell the shinpū we're going for the high-end market. Set the price steep, target the rich folks who aren't that rich but love chasing the thrill of something exotic."
Riku was blunt, straight-up cutting regular people out of his customer base. No scamming the poor, that's for sure.
No way around it—regular folks could barely afford the cheapest synthetic niku. Black market organic meat? Forget it.
On the black market, organic niku costs more than some high-end synthetic stuff. It's not exactly everyday bento material.
Even the fanciest synthetic meat can't shake the fact that it's, well, synthetic. Real niku? That's a whole different game.
In the city, real meat's all about rarity—mono no aware, the beauty of something scarce.
Here's the cold truth: mass production ain't happening. There just isn't enough supply.
And if you can't move volume and can't charge a premium, who'd bother with this illegal biz? You'd just be asking for trouble, like some ronin with no purpose.
"Smart move. Those types love this stuff, and they're not scared of getting sick."
Jack nodded. That target market was spot-on.
Regular folks would fret over every little risk. They don't have the cash to splurge on satisfying their taste buds.
If a normie's hitting the black market for organic niku, they're probably grabbing the cheaper chicken.
Organic chicken doesn't fetch much, though. Back when Night City got hit hard by avian flu, it left a bad taste in everyone's mouths—psychologically, at least.
Fact is, just a few years ago, trading poultry in Night City was still legal. Twenty, thirty years back, you could even raise cows, sheep, pigs, the whole deal.
But as tech advanced and the corps tightened their grip, the stuff regular people could touch got smaller and smaller.
Avian flu, swine flu, this flu, that flu—with today's tech, you really telling me they can't solve or treat it?
Is wiping out every animal in the city the only way to keep things safe?
That's a question for the sennin—the wise ones. Riku sure didn't buy it. Look at who's profiting, and it's clear: it's all about the ri—the cash.
"Those buyers will test the meat before eating. They're thrill-seekers, but they're not reckless."
Riku chuckled. Who'd buy organic niku on the black market and just cook it up without checking?
You'd need some serious guts to trust a black market seller's word that it's all good.
Food factories and biotech corps are always preaching about how dangerous black market niku and other "unregulated" foods are—could cause infections, chronic diseases, even death.
What's "unregulated"? Anything without a biotech corp's safety stamp.
Truth is, it's just a tactic to monopolize the food market and crush competitors.
But let's be real—some issues are legit.
Some shady merchants do sell bad stuff. It costs money to source, so if it doesn't sell, they're out of pocket.
If someone dies or an outbreak happens, what's that to them? Doesn't cost them a single yen.
Some places even straight-up label their stuff as expired. As long as it's cheap, people still buy—better to risk getting sick than starve right away.
"Alright, I'll see what the shinpū says."
Jack had a good grasp of the situation. Seemed like a solid deal to him.
"Cool."
Sure enough, the shinpū replied quick. He was in for the job.
He'd only take a 5% cut—a symbolic fee for his efforts.
"Man, the shinpū's too kind. Without him, we'd be screwed finding buyers."
Riku shot a message back, genuinely surprised the shinpū was being so chill.
In this deal, the shinpū was like a trading platform. What platform only takes 5%?
"I've got my eye on you, our Devil-san. This is an investment—playing the long game."
The shinpū's reply was straight-up honest.
"Leave it to the shinpū to see the big picture."
Riku grinned. The shinpū was a sly old kitsune, betting on his potential, building ties early to cash in later.
"Let's do this together, you three. I handle the supply, you two handle the deals. For every sale, you each get a 15% cut."
Riku looked at V and Jack Welles. This was a no-investment gig for him—perfect for pulling his crew closer.
Jack Welles and V were street veterans; this kind of hustle was second nature to them.
"That's real, Riku. Don't worry, we've got this. No screw-ups."
Jack and V didn't hesitate, sealing the deal. If something went south, they'd back Riku up.
(Chapter End)