Viktor's Clinic.
Viktor pulled a second bottle of red wine from the fridge — one he'd been saving for a real occasion. With a few dishes Misty threw together, they poured again and let the night breathe.
"V, you've turned into a real busy edgerunner." Viktor said with a grin, taking a sip, "When the screamsheets were running you and Jackie nonstop, Misty and I figured you'd be fine. Didn't think it'd get this hard just to catch you in person."
"Vik, my plate's stacked to the ceiling~~"
After that, Vash punished himself with three straight shots like it was penance.
Misty topped everyone off and smiled, "Haven't seen you all this happy in a long time. It's… nice."
Viktor gave Jackie's hand a pat, "Those gorilla arms you've been using to turn corpo dogs into paste — I'm the one who installed 'em. How could I not be happy?"
Jackie laughed, "No wonder I feel like a freight train when I'm laying hands on 'em. It's like the Animals' knuckle mods were made for busting corpo skulls."
"Hahahaha!"
Inside the cramped ripperdoc clinic, the laughter kept bouncing off the walls.
Vash, for once, felt his shoulders loosen. Around these people, he could actually breathe.
After a few more rounds and enough food to soak up the alcohol, Misty quietly started clearing plates — just enough to keep the place from turning into a battlefield.
Viktor, who almost never smoked, lit a cigarette and exhaled slowly, "V… I heard from Jack that you're thinking about spinning up your own outfit."
"Jack's got a mouth like a busted comms line — always transmitting." Vash said, not denying it, "Yeah. I'm thinking about it. Still in the prep stage."
Starting a crew wasn't kids playing gangster. You didn't just decide you were a faction and make it real overnight.
"If it was anyone else, I wouldn't say a word." Viktor said, "But if it's you? I'd actually like to see it. You want my two eddies?"
Vash nodded, "Spit it, Vik."
"You need to move fast. You and Jack made noise at Konpeki Plaza, sure — but once the buzz dies, Night City will swallow the story and move on. You can't wait too long to make your next play."
Vash had wanted to line everything up and do it all at once. Viktor was telling him to ride the momentum before the city's attention drifted elsewhere.
In Night City, there was always a new disaster, a new scandal, a new body count. Konpeki Plaza would eventually become just another headline — another passing cloud. While people still remembered the names Vash and Jackie, if they didn't capitalize now, that impression would fade until it was nothing but static.
"Makes sense."
Viktor really was an old hand — he'd spotted Vash's hesitation the moment he spoke.
"Vik." Vash said, "stop dancing around it."
Viktor turned on the monitor. A boxing match flickered to life — old footage, grainy and brutal. He spoke over it, voice even, "Night City runs on extremes. On one side you've got the corpo upper crust, hoarding resources, drowning themselves in luxury. On the other you've got the street — most of the city — scraping by and coping however they can. Different methods, same core: indulgence.
Decades ago, boxing wasn't what it is now. No combat stims. No boosters. No chrome. Just meat, willpower, and whoever could keep standing. Back then, boxing, basketball, soccer — those were the things that could set whole districts on fire. Every neighborhood had a ring when there was a fight. You'd get warm-ups, then crowds so thick you could barely breathe, and bets flying like bullets. One match could change a person's life."
Vash narrowed his eyes, the pieces clicking together, "So you're saying Jackie and I should go throw hands for fun?"
"That's only one slice." Viktor said, "V, the high-end crowd clusters in City Center. But eighty percent of this city runs on the so-called 'bottom.' The corps already own the top. If you want to build something real, you start where the corps don't bother to look — down here. You could say taking the streets is the cleanest way for your faction to expand. And boxing is just one route to doing that."
Take the streets…
Just like that, Vash's confusion cleared. He followed Viktor's logic end to end, and it fit the city like a glove.
"Vik…" he started, voice earnest.
Viktor waved him off, "You're not the sentimental type. Don't start."
Jackie stared at them, then scratched his head, "What the hell are you two even saying? I get every word, but put together it's like a brain dance with missing frames."
These two… always talking sideways instead of straight.
Vash laughed, "Jack, how do I put it… if I tell you now, it'll sound like talk. It won't stick. But when we do it, you'll feel it. Then you'll understand."
"Do it." Jackie repeated, latching onto the phrase. He grinned, "Fine. Then we do it."
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Santo Doming, Rancho Coronado.
Early the next morning, Vash, Jackie, and Viktor rolled out to Rancho in the Caliburn.
If they were going to use boxing to "take the streets", then Viktor— the planner — was coming along. He even ditched the white coat for a black leather jacket, looking so punk it almost felt wrong.
In the car, Jackie leaned into the vibe and blasted some old-school punk. The three of them almost felt like they were on a road trip instead of heading into trouble.
"Vik." Jackie said, "You're in a good mood, huh?"
Viktor swayed with the beat, "Am I? Guess that means your pick's on point. Back when I was still stepping into the ring, I used to run this track on repeat."
The two of them were cut from the same old-world cloth.
Jackie asked, "Since you're so hyped… the people you knew back then — do they still respect you?"
"Ring people remember." Viktor said, "And they're loyal."
Before long, the Caliburn slid under an overpass. Up ahead sat a makeshift camp.
Near the riverbank, a military tent had been pitched. Beside it rested a modified off-road ride. Supplies were stacked in a messy pile, and empty glass liquor bottles littered the ground like spent casings.
"Buck!"
Viktor got out and called toward the tent.
A Black man stepped into view, his eyes sweeping past Vash and Jackie before locking straight onto Viktor. Buck Arnold.
{T/N: The author doesn't say exactly who it is, but this character seems to fit Buck Arnold best, who also appears to be a soldier, is Black, and is involved in the fistfight side quests.}
"Viktor? The hell you doing out here?"
They had history from back in the ring. Otherwise, the moment someone rolled into his turf, Buck would've already been on a ridge somewhere with a scoped rifle and a finger halfway to the trigger.
"I need a favor." Viktor said.
Buck let out a short laugh, "Viktor, you're hilarious. Look at me — do I look like someone who can do favors? Get out."
He did look rough. But Vash had seen worse. Out in the Badlands, plenty of nomad camps looked like this place on a good day.
"Listen, Buck. I want to set up a boxing match — the old-school kind." Viktor said, "I've been holding a scalpel for years. My name in that circle doesn't carry the weight yours does."
Buck stared like Viktor had started speaking Martian, "Viktor… am I drunk, or did someone scramble your brain? Old-school boxing? You're dreaming."
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T/N: Comment, give me Power Stones, like and favorite, it all supports me and makes me go foward with this. Appreciate my other stories as well, I guarantee the good work!
If you want 20 chapters ahead, smut chapters or spicy images of this novel for just $5, or enjoy a large catalog of good novels with excellent translations (free or starting at $1.5): MrBlackWing (you know where to search)
I'm currently translating another project (for $10) where the character goes to the world of Cyberpunk 2077, but!... mixed with Cyberpunk Edgerunners too! And he has the Roronoa Zoro Template, so expect a lot of sword slashes and girls in the bed! (Lucy has already "fallen"...)
That's it and happy reading! (-‿◦)