Pira chose a meeting spot in the North Industrial District of Night City, right where he lived.
Riku, cruising in his sleek Seresu (a nod to those flashy mecha rides in anime), circled around before finding the place. Man, this spot was way out there—practically on the edge of Night City.
Or rather, it was the edge. Riku could already see the endless, desolate akutō (badlands) stretching out like some post-apocalyptic wasteland from a shōnen anime.
Pira's place was a run-down three-story building. It looked like it had seen better days, but in a place like this, keeping anything shiny and new was a tall order.
And, yup, stepping inside confirmed it: even more beat-up. This place had history, like a forgotten set from a gritty seinen cyberpunk series.
Knock, knock, knock.
Riku rapped on the door. His nose picked up the scents of three people inside—one of them familiar. That'd be Sasha.
The door creaked open, and a pistol poked out first. The one holding it? A pint-sized girl with some serious tsundere energy.
"Hey, Rebecca," Riku greeted with a casual wave. Gotta respect the North Industrial District vibe—gun out, even in broad daylight.
"Devil? Come on in," Rebecca said, glancing up. She lowered the gun and stepped aside.
Riku strolled into the small apartment. Compared to the sterile, high-tech apartments in the chō-matenrō (super skyscraper) H10, this place had way more jinsei no aji—the flavor of life.
By that, I mean it was kinda rundown, like a lived-in hideout straight out of a mecha crew's base. Not cold and clinical like some seikatsu-sō (life-support pod) vibe.
"Yo, Devil!" Sasha, lounging on the couch, gave a cheerful wave, her smile as bright as a shōjo heroine's.
"Finally here, huh? So, what kinda sukiru chippu are you making?" Pira's head popped out from a side room, his eyes sparkling with curiosity, like a tech-obsessed otaku in a cyberpunk anime.
Riku shot Sasha an apologetic look, but she just shrugged with a grin, clearly used to Pira's genki antics.
"Pira, you can make sukiru chippu?" Riku asked, picking up on Pira's confidence.
"Hell yeah! There's nothing Pira-sama can't do. Just tell me what skill you want!" Pira declared, throwing up a big thumbs-up, striking a pose like he was the protagonist of a shōnen tech saga.
"Breathing," Riku said with a smirk.
"Huh?!" Pira's head whipped toward Riku, his face screaming, "Are you kidding me?" in classic over-the-top anime fashion.
"Yup, breathing," Riku repeated, dead serious now, making Pira realize this wasn't a prank.
"Breathing? What's the point? There are already chips for that!" Pira's confusion was palpable. There were breathing skill chips out there—specialized ones for people with medical conditions. In Night City, if there's a need, someone's selling it, no matter how niche or hen (weird).
"Not that kind of breathing. Check out my breathing," Riku said, shaking his head. He amped up his kokyū-hō (breathing technique), making it more pronounced, like a character powering up in a climactic shōnen battle.
Pira blinked. "Uh…" Honestly, all he could tell was that Riku was sucking in air like a vacuum cleaner. What was so special about this kokyū?
"No good?" Riku raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with playful doubt. Was this the so-called "all-knowing" Pira-sama?
The jab hit home. Pira's pride flared up like a mecha pilot facing a rival. "Of course it's good!" he barked, clenching a fist. He'd just bragged about his skills—no way he'd back down now and slap his own face.
Without another word, Pira grabbed Riku and dragged him into the back room. The place was a chaotic mess of kikai (machinery) and janku (scrap)—bolts and nuts scattered on the floor, shelves crammed with what looked like useless junk to Riku.
"These are my āto (artworks)," Pira said, spreading his arms wide and taking a deep, dramatic breath, like he was inhaling the essence of his creations. Total otaku vibes.
"Uh…" Riku didn't get it. Did this mean he lacked the tensai (genius) to be a street tech expert? Was he missing the ability to see beauty in scrap metal?
"Hang on, let me grab some dōgu (tools)," Pira said. After a few more whiffs of his "artistic" air, he dove into the pile of junk, wielding a screwdriver, wrench, and welding torch.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Zzzzt! Zzzzt!
Sparks flew like a mecha repair scene. In no time, Pira whipped out a piece of "gear."
"Here, put this on. Let's see what's so special about your kokyū," Pira said, handing Riku what looked like a clunky tetsujin (iron man) vest, wired to a pair of hippu happu (hip-hop) goggles. Pira was already rocking the goggles, looking like a tech-savvy delinquent from an anime.
Riku stared, dumbfounded, as he took the vest. He hadn't even blinked—how the hell did Pira make this thing? Tech experts were sugoi (terrifyingly awesome)! Was this the power of ore-shisō (I-reckon-it'll-work) ingenuity?
Riku slipped on the tetsujin vest, his admiration for Pira's skills growing. Sure, he didn't get the "art" of scrap metal, but turning junk into high-tech gear? That was kakkoii (cool as hell)!
"Hmm, there's definitely something here," Pira said, getting serious as Riku activated his kokyū-hō while wearing the vest. Pira adjusted his hippu happu goggles, looking like a mad scientist in a mecha anime.
"You see it?" Riku asked, barely holding back a smirk. Those goofy goggles didn't exactly scream "reliable."
"I see it. This is… kinda sugoi," Pira said, yanking off the goggles, his eyes wide with awe. He finally got how tokubetsu (special) Riku's breathing was.
"Hold up," Pira said, diving back into his junk pile. More sparks, more banging, and soon he'd cobbled together another contraption.
"Stick these on your body, and this on your head," Pira instructed, handing Riku a set of devices—his custom chō-mu (super-dream) recording rig.
"Attach this, slot in the chip, add this, hit start, toss in a bit of this, and we're recording," Pira muttered, his hands a blur. To Riku, it sounded like Pira was chanting, "Ore-shisō, kono yarō kō naru!" (I reckon this'll work!) over and over.
"Alright, breathe. Don't stop," Pira commanded, already in full recording mode, his efficiency as sharp as a samurai's katana.
Haaa…
Riku kept his kokyū-hō flowing, adjusting his rhythm to make it easier for Pira to capture, like a character syncing their energy for a ki attack.
"Good, good!" Pira nodded, back in his hippu happu goggles, tapping his foot like a hyped-up DJ. He was chasing that kanji (feeling)—the key to a sukiru chippu was guiding the body's movements.
Here's the deal: a sukiru chippu doesn't need your brain to know the skill. It just needs your body to move when it's supposed to. Like, say you wanna punch someone. The chip reads your brain's signal and makes your fist swing, but it's a whole different set of motions than what you're used to. Your brain and body might not know the moves, but with the chip, it's like you've practiced them a thousand times.
This breathing was the same. Pira didn't need to understand the kokyū-hō's principles—he just needed to record the brain signals that made the body move.
"Done!" Pira shouted, kicking his chair to spin back to his console, like a mecha pilot sliding into the cockpit.
After some tweaks and fine-tuning, he'd captured the breathing's brain signals.
"Might not be as good as the original—maybe 70% of the effect. My gear's kinda boroi (shabby), so bear with me," Pira said, tweaking parameters on a screen full of code that only a tech otaku could love.
Riku peeled off the janky gear, certain that big corpos didn't use this kind of gizagiza (rough) setup for their sukiru chippu production. But it didn't matter what tools you used—only that it worked.
Pira tossed Riku the finished chip: the Mizu no Kokyū (Water Breathing) sukiru chippu, done just like that, even if it was only 70% as effective as Riku's original technique.
(End of Chapter)