The Daily Life Of A Cyberpunk Magician
Chapter 281 - 187 Clo lit a cigarette

Chapter 281: Chapter 187 Clo lit a cigarette

The darkness shrouded Thirteen District.

Compared with the dead silence three days ago, the nights of Thirteen District were now lit up with sparse lights.

The mutants had largely been dealt with, and now only a few fugitives were still on the run within Thirteen District.

But this wasn’t a difficult task; Thirteen District was still under lockdown, and after having taken care of the major problem of the mutants, it was only a matter of time before these fugitives would be caught.

Life would probably get back on track soon, right?

On this night, that was what everyone in Thirteen District thought,

including the father in this cozy little room.

He sat in front of his daughter’s small bed, his large, calloused hands tightly holding his daughter’s little hands.

"Daddy, I want a candy," the girl said to her father, her voice not loud and somewhat timid.

"You’ve already brushed your teeth today; you can’t eat anymore," the father said with a smile, looking at the little girl lying in bed, her complexion pale, "Once you’re better, I’ll take you to eat the most delicious candy in the world."

"Okay," the little girl nodded obediently, yawning, "Dad, I want to sleep now, can you turn off the light?"

"Okay, I’m leaving then. If you feel uncomfortable, you must tell me," the father stood up, he tucked the little blanket on the bed properly, then turned off the light and left his daughter’s room.

In the darkness, the little girl’s forehead broke out in a fine sweat for a moment, she bit her teeth, clutched her blanket with force, her whole body twisted trying to alleviate her pain, but it wasn’t effective.

After her father left the room, she no longer had to pretend nothing was wrong, but it seemed like the pain knew this, and erupted even more violently at this moment.

She had to endure it; she couldn’t worry her father anymore.

She kept repeating this thought in her heart.

Outside the room, the man’s brows were tightly furrowed as he went to the spot where he had been saving money for so many years, taking out all his savings to count them again.

It was still far from enough.

Far from the astronomical price of the cure.

Just a few days before the lockdown in Thirteen District, his daughter inexplicably came down with Tansi Syndrome, which was extremely painful during its flare-ups.

The good news was that the condition could be easily eradicated with a special medicine, and he had checked that he could afford it.

Although the price was not low, requiring all his savings to buy, these were trivial matters compared to his daughter.

After his wife died of illness, his daughter was his only support.

However, the bad news was that after the lockdown in Thirteen District, all medicines had been manipulated to sky-high prices.

Even the price of this rare special medicine had doubled.

The direct result of the doubling was that he could not afford the price of such medicine.

Loans...

Even a loan wouldn’t work; those vampires in the banks wouldn’t lend money to "Class D" people like them.

Banks categorized people into four classes, with Class A naturally being the capitalists who were on the same level as them.

They were happy to lend to these capitalists, and if the capitalists couldn’t pay on time, they could unceremoniously take over the assets that had been put up as collateral.

They wouldn’t lose out.

Class B were the middle-class people who might borrow for education, buying a house, or buying a car and, having stable jobs, were able to pay back their loans on time.

It was hard to lose out.

Class C people were slightly worse off than the middle class, but overall, their loan repayment rate was also good.

Of course, this was also related to the fact that the banks wouldn’t lend them too much money.

As for Class D...

They were mostly low-income earners or wanderers.

This category of people absolutely could not be granted loans, otherwise, the banks were sure to lose money.

In recent years, the category of Class D people had continuously been refined, with each bank having its own way of judging, and they unanimously counted discharged soldiers from the military as part of the "Class D".

For the bankers, this was a lesson learned in exchange for "blood money."

Never lend to these people.

These people had only a set of allocated housing that couldn’t be sold or mortgaged, and during the key twenty years of their lives, they had only learned how to kill and often did not have a single skill, so they could only do extremely simple jobs.

They might have some savings from their time in the service, but when these discharged soldiers from the Combat Sequence needed a loan to do something, would that savings still be there?

Obviously not.

This also meant that the soldier’s financial planning was poor.

Therefore, such people were the completely unprofitable Class D, and should never be given loans.

This was what was written in every bank clerk’s work manual.

The man put away his money, carefully placed it inside the pocket of his clothing, and then he walked towards the storage room of his allocated house.

The moment he opened the storage room door, the dust choked him, but he didn’t care, and he leaned in to open a hidden cabinet.

Pulling open the cabinet, inside were three dust-sealed boxes; he opened these boxes, took out a pistol and three magazines, as well as a custom-made arm armor for the right forearm.

He looked at the arm armor, the size of a small forearm, hesitated for a moment, but still took it up and fastened it to his right arm.