Chu Zu woke on the third day after losing consciousness, only because the system had mustered all its strength to shove his awareness back into his body.

“You had to wake up now. Those doctors were starting to look deranged. They were considering electroshock therapy, and I feared your already overburdened brain would suffer even more.”

Chu Zu forced his eyes open, adjusting to the light as he silently thanked the system.

The doctors around him nearly wept with joy, swarming forward to examine him.

Seizing the moment, the system gently relayed everything that had happened during his coma.

“Luciano’s ruthless, even unconscious, he’d drag me back to work…” Chu Zu mused internally, cooperating fully with the doctors, obedient to a fault.

To the physicians, this bordered on a medical miracle.

“Thank heavens you’re awake. If you’d slept any longer, Mr Esposito would’ve packed you and us off to the lower districts.”

One doctor’s slip of the tongue was swiftly cut off by an elbow from a colleague.

Chu Zu slowly lifted his head from the pillow. It took him seconds to process the words. When his gaze briefly met the doctor’s, realization struck his carefully recovered complexion drained to sheet-white.

His lips parted, but no sound emerged. His crimson eyes grew misty, thick with something hollow.

In the next instant, all trace of weakness vanished from Chu Zu’s frame, leaving only the silent, cold-edged shadow once more.

He tore off every medical device attached to him and moved to stand.

The doctors panicked, hands fluttering in front of him like startled birds.

“Mr. Chu Zu, please wait! We’ve already informed Mr Esposito—just hold on!”

Dizziness washed over him as he rose, but Chu Zu knew it wasn’t physical. He didn’t care.

Shedding the hospital gown (a “classical” design for ease of examination), he retrieved his dirt-stained clothes from the wardrobe in the corner and pulled them on.

Ignoring all attempts to stop him, the man strode out of Esposito Tower.

The artificial rain hadn’t let up. Chu Zu had never bothered with umbrellas before his body was hardy enough to shrug off most toxins, let alone weather.

But this time, he paused beneath the eaves, watching the rain shimmer with light pollution. His cold gaze swept the area before settling on the umbrella stand by the entrance. He selected a black one.

For the first time, Chu Zu opened an umbrella for himself. The experience seemed novel he stood motionless in the rain for a long moment.

Security cameras captured every frame, uploading the footage to the butler Jeeves’ terminal.

The crimson-eyed man walked into the downpour, soon swallowed by the rain.

—

Unnoticed by him, every hidden surveillance camera along his path adjusted its focus, audio receptors cranked to maximum sensitivity.

“Aren’t you going to Luciano?” the system asked, watching its host stroll idly under the umbrella.

“Playing hooky first.”

(Ink Hub: Skipping Work)

“…”

“Kidding. I need to assess the situation.” Chu Zu said. “I’ve got Luciano figured out—a bloodsucking capitalist. Doesn’t matter how close you are to him; he’ll work you like a dog regardless.”

The system: “Accurate.”

Chu Zu’s timely collapse had spared him worse. Passing out beyond recovery had forced the shitty capitalist to play at being half-decent, but only half.

Beyond Luciano’s attitude, Chu Zu needed to gauge how others viewed him.

“Even after betraying Luciano, I gained support from his inner circle in the finale. That doesn’t add up. Revenge alone shouldn’t be enough.”

He analyzed aloud, “Unless his other subordinates are brainwashed morons who think 996 is a blessing. Kid Luciano’s been peddling empty promises since he was twelve. Add some PUA tactics, and voilà.”

The system: “…”

They spent considerable time strategizing how to approach other key figures. The system explained that due to Chu Zu’s supplemental worldbuilding, Neon Crown had auto-filled plot developments around his expanded backstory.

“Your background is now fully fleshed out. Luciano brought you to the Upper District at twelve. Until seventeen, you lived in the Esposito estate, shadowing him constantly.”

“The Espositos control transit between Upper and Lower Districts while maintaining Lower District stability. At seventeen, Luciano sent you on long-term assignments in the Lower District. You only returned at twenty.”

“You’re twenty-nine now. These past nine years, aside from occasional stays at the estate, you’ve been constantly on the move.”

The system hesitated. “You… don’t have a home. Even if others wanted to visit, they’d have nowhere to go; no one dares approach the Esposito estate directly.”

Chu Zu halted mid-step. Expressionless, he tilted his umbrella up, surveying the towering skyscrapers, and inwardly cursed: “Little Luciano’s a regular Simon Legree.”

—

Luciano watched Chu Zu through the surveillance feed, a half-read report in hand.

A subordinate had discreetly reminded him to respond within ten minutes, but Luciano had spent over that simply staring at Chu Zu’s motionless figure.

The streets were empty.

Freshly awakened, Chu Zu had lost all color after the doctor’s remark. The black umbrella blocked overhead lights, leaving his face in shadow, not gloomy, but eerily blank.

At twelve, Chu Zu began formal training. Upper District children all trained, but Chu Zu never fit in.

His overwhelming muscle strength, hyper-agility, and bone structure made sparring with Luciano resemble an adult bullying a child.

So Luciano hired professionals.

They taught Chu Zu to hone his body to perfection to protect, to kill, to weaponize his congenital insensitivity to pain, transforming him into something more precise than machinery.

Yet this same Chu Zu staggered back two steps when a girl, darting for shelter, collided with him.

She fell hard, scraping her knees bloody, wailing loudly.

Luciano asked Jeeves: “Is he still unwell?”

* *

“Tests show no abnormalities,” Jeeves replied. “Shall I summon him? Fifty-three tasks remain on his docket.”

Luciano drummed his fingers on the desk. After a pause: “Have someone fetch him home.”

“The usual guest suite near your quarters?”

“…Doesn’t he have his room?”

“If you refer to his childhood bedroom, you repurposed it as a Collection Room twelve years ago. Since returning, he occasionally uses the guest suite but mostly stays elsewhere.”

“Guest suite, then.” Luciano’s patience frayed. “You’re the butler, just get him back.”

“And the fifty-three tasks?”

“Give them to him.” Luciano watched Chu Zu coldly observe the sobbing girl. “Tell him not to screw up again. Last time was the final warning.”

Jeeves relayed the orders via one-way comms:

Wait for pickup. Return to the estate. Rest. Then work.

And — Don’t fail again.

The system vibrated with excitement. “We were just strategizing how to contact Luciano’s…”

Catching itself mirroring Chu Zu’s irreverence, it corrected: “his associates, and he’s delivering them to us!”

Chu Zu, still debating whether to help the crying child, barely listened.

After deliberation, he didn’t offer a hand. Instead, he bent down, pressing his umbrella into hers.

Tears still brimming, the girl gaped as the man said tonelessly: “Take it.”

Terrified, she scrambled up, clutching the umbrella, and fled through the puddles.

Chu Zu approved.

This fit his character; Chu Zu couldn’t empathize with pain or fear, but he knew rain was undesirable.

After all, Luciano never got wet.

“Where’s Tang Qi?” he asked.

The system provided an address and optimal route.

“You’re skipping rest to start Luciano’s tasks?”

“Not working.” Chu Zu walked rain-soaked toward the transit station. “Luciano’s watching. His people won’t react naturally.”

“Change of plans, we’ll scout the Lower District first. Tang Qi won’t meet me yet, but I’ll make my presence known.”

The system: “??”

“Think about it: I woke up and didn’t report to Luciano. I even dared to use an umbrella. Is that rebellious enough? Is that Degenerate enough?”

Reluctantly, the system conceded: “…For ‘Chu Zu,’ that’s pretty rebellious.”

“Only Luciano thinks so. He can’t tolerate me stepping an inch outside his expectations.”

Chu Zu smirked. “But I want everyone to think it.”

“Why…?”

Instead of answering, Chu Zu asked abruptly: “Do I look handsome?”

The system: “Huh?”

After six months together, the system realized it barely knew its host.

Chu Zu’s added backstory was masterful. As a minor character, his late-game villain reveal originally drew reader confusion (“Who the hell is this?”).

The original betrayal scene was brief, quickly shifting to the protagonist Tang Qi’s perspective.

These tweaks stayed within system parameters. Luciano’s actions also remained canon-compliant with everything logical, even sparing Chu Zu a beating, preserving his final-boss dignity.

Yet some things still baffled the system. Like this question.

“I only glanced during showers. Not abstract-looking, I think. Your verdict?”

The system: “…Quite attractive…?”

“Good.” Chu Zu said. “A villain can be despicable, can lose catastrophically, can age poorly but never young and ugly. That’s tasteless. Look at Luciano dressed like a gentleman, acting like a devil.”

The system, data banks failing, silently archived the quote for later study.

“Why do you look more like a rookie than me?” Chu Zu, unable to watch any longer, seized the lead and prodded the system instead. “We’re progressing fine, aren’t we?”

The system perked up: “Enlighten me!”

“Three reasons ‘Chu Zu’ got hated in Neon Crown”

The system prepared notes.

“1. His actions lacked motive and were idiotic.

2. His character was blank; readers forgot him.

3. Zero final-boss Aura.”

The system: “Yes!”

“We’re already working on fixing the first two points, but it’s all in service of the third. In the end, everything’s going to land on just one question: Why the hell should Chu Zu get to be the final boss?”

The system grasped it: “Exactly!”

“So, without altering plot outcomes, we’ll make readers gradually think: Damn, Chu Zu’s kinda impressive. Then the reveal lands naturally.”

The system: “Mhm!”

“But right now? I’m just Luciano’s dog. Even if the master dies and the dog goes rabid, biting everyone, at best, people will praise me as a loyal mad dog.

“Not that mad dogs can’t be bosses, but it clashes with the betrayal arc. Plus, no ambition.”

Arriving at the station, Chu Zu eyed the architecture with distaste.

Beyond the city’s all-pervasive light pollution, even purely functional facilities like train stations had been forcibly dressed up with what the Upper District considered art.

The entrance was built into a massive, twisted vortex-like frame, as if a normal building had been wrung into deformity by a giant’s hands. No glass linked the structure from a distance; it was indistinguishable from a heap of steel ruins.

And it didn’t even keep the rain out.

The next Lower District train arrived in five minutes.

At the nearly empty gates, Chu Zu’s iris scan cleared him through.

The system waited eagerly for more insights, but Chu Zu clammed up.

“Relax. I’m crafting a villain worthy of Tang Qi. Even with minimal page time, he’ll be the most qualified final boss.”

The system: “…”

It sighed: “…Alright.”

—

Translator’s Note:

This is Ink Hub at your service!
If you enjoyed this chapter, leave a comment. Your support keeps the translations flowing!

(Cultural notes: Simon Legree = ruthless taskmaster from Uncle Tom’s Cabin;
996 = Chinese work culture slang for 9 am-9 pm, 6 days/week;
PUA = “pick-up artist” manipulation tactics.)