"Militech must be destroyed? A concise, hawkish proposal. So, shall we sprinkle some salt as well? Our very own Cato the Elder and Scipio, Director Vela?"
As night fell and the city lights flickered to life, a sleek and luxurious hovercar glided from the heart of Tokyo Metropolis, stopping at the private helipad within the Arasaka Family Compound. Click—the hatch opened, and under the skillful, courteous reception of attendants, Vela and Michiko Arasaka stepped out.
Because Vela had used an allusion to the Punic Wars in her speech at the preliminary regency council meeting, Michiko, remembering it, said meaningfully, "And then, you'll become Caesar?"
The Punic Wars—ancient conflicts between Rome and Carthage.
Cato the Elder, a quintessential conservative figure of the Roman Republic, was most famous for his persistent advocacy to annihilate Carthage completely, ending every speech in the Senate with the words: Carthago delenda est—"Carthage must be destroyed!"
Scipio referred to two men: the elder Scipio, who defeated Hannibal in the Second Punic War, and his adopted son, the younger Scipio, who destroyed Carthage in the Third—burning the city, slaughtering its people, salting the earth so nothing would ever grow again.
"My dear sister, was that meant as a blessing or a curse?"
Hearing Michiko's teasing question, Vela merely tilted her head slightly, smoothing the folds of her coat and lapel as she walked toward the inner residence, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips.
To become Caesar? Truly great.
But in certain symbolic senses of 'beginnings and endings,' it wasn't necessarily a compliment.
"Then what about Octavian?"
Without waiting for Michiko's reply, Vela stretched lazily, tilting her head and winking playfully at her.
"..."
Michiko paused for a moment, squinting.
"So calculative, Vela."
Octavian—now that she thought about it, the comparison fit rather well.
Her father, Kei Arasaka, was the 'Caesar' who perished halfway through his empire's founding. His political heir, like Caesar's own, was not a direct descendant but rather a nephew-granddaughter and adopted daughter—Vela—determined to become the 'Octavian' of Arasaka.
Then who was Michiko herself? Julia, Caesar's daughter and Pompey's wife?
Quite fitting, given that she had spent the first half of her life in America, growing up there, and marrying an American.
After nearly a year together, Michiko had grown accustomed to her younger half-century sister's ambition to ascend within Arasaka.
Whoever claimed the throne, she didn't care—she would always stand by the victor.
With a faint laugh, Michiko shrugged, showing no objection, and added playfully, "Then do your best, unbending Machiavellian idealist—work hard on your path to Augustus."
"I'd rather you didn't call me that."
Vela chuckled softly.
After the North American Free States' second independence crisis in early 2076, and half a year of consolidating power and authority, she had already surpassed Michiko in inheriting the late Prince Kei's political legacy.
Though there was a thrill in defying fate, she knew it was ultimately mutual benefit—a willing exchange.
Vela, after all, bore no blood relation to the Arasaka family. She could hardly emulate Octavian, who, fearing 'too many Caesars,' purged other heirs to secure his sole succession.
For the sake of unity—and to display magnanimity and legitimacy—Vela not only couldn't move against Michiko, but instead had to uphold the old Eastern rites of 'honoring the remaining kings,' treating her with utmost respect and privilege.
At least not until her position was fully secured and her control over Arasaka firmly established.
Unjust purges were best avoided—she wasn't a devotee of Khorne, after all.
Michiko, for her part, was the leader of Arasaka's dovish faction—powerful, with a loyal base and a clear focus. One might accuse her of being too compromising, of fence-sitting, of being complacent and lacking ambition, but 'decorative' she was not.
Of course, if Michiko were ever foolish enough to bring about her own downfall, that would be another matter entirely.
Tap, tap.
Without lingering too long on those utilitarian discussions about the future, Vela and Michiko strolled along the stone paths of the inner courtyard, soon steering their conversation toward the relaxed topics better suited to New Year's Eve gatherings—the last day of the year.
"Thank heaven, my sister—you finally dyed your hair black again. At least you didn't come today with that non-mainstream blue mohawk and those ridiculous gold earrings."
"Such an old man's aesthetic."
Michiko scoffed lightly, casting a disdainful glance at Vela, who was wrapped neatly from head to toe, every part of her attire proper and formal. "You? Talking fashion with me?"
"The old man isn't here. Let's talk like young people for once, Vela. In other fields, you're the authority—I admit that. But in fashion? You don't know a damn thing. You're the one who's non-mainstream."
"...Tsk."
Vela fell silent.
She couldn't exactly argue that.
It was the end of 2076—almost 2077—and punk was the mainstream now. Her aesthetic, with its fusion of classical formality and higher-dimensional geometric sci-fi flair, was the real outlier.
Seeing Michiko's expression that screamed, Even my dad, who died in 2023, was trendier than you, Vela coughed lightly, not offended, and smoothly changed the subject: "Speaking of Danger Gal, how's expansion outside the detective business?"
Michiko clicked her tongue. She really wanted to know how Vela's parents had managed to raise someone like this—someone with near-obsessive neatness in the freest, wildest, most punk city in the world, Night City.
Truly, it takes all sorts to make a world.
"Thanks to you, our shareholder, the annual report for medical aesthetics and recovery therapy services looks great."
Michiko replied with a smirk.
"The best-selling product is the beauty and wellness derivative of the [Sonnentreppe Project]—the diluted and cost-reduced R-618 'Rebirth' Compound. Warehouse thefts have increased exponentially because of it."
"As expected. A minor issue."
Vela spread her hands casually.
"Two possibilities: those who can't afford the full R-618 'Rebirth' rejuvenation package, and those with… improper fantasies about the raw compound."
Who didn't like rejuvenation and longevity?
Even a lone mercenary would jump at the chance to maintain their cybernetic body and soothe overworked neural pathways. As for politicians, business elites, celebrities, and industry competitors—the less said, the better. Especially the last group: even with 'friendly cooperation agreements,' none could truly be trusted.
"The enforcers you support—Kurt Hansen's Barghest—have been butting heads fiercely with Lazarus lately. Cyber Tyrant, Quinque, EXO-1 exoskeletons… even new stimulants and inhibitors, hydrogen-oxygen propellants, new vehicles, new weapons—you're really treating them like a live weapons testing ground?"
"Why not? In the city, the Excessive Firepower Prohibition Treaty makes testing too restricted. If the covert shadow wars between special agents got publicly exposed, it would ruin the company's international image. But real combat yields real insight. The localized mercenary clashes between Barghest and Lazarus are the perfect testing ground."
"Fine. Military matters are your domain—as long as you're confident. Oh, by the way, your Adelheid—didn't it complete all five sea trials successfully, with carrier aircraft aboard and escorts assigned? Why the sudden return to dock for overhaul?"
"There's been a few recent breakthroughs in technology. And since I know a bit about it myself, I naturally want to add some personal tactical modifications to my flagship."
"New weapons again?"
"Guess."
"Guess whether I'll guess. Next question! What about that resort and recovery park you've been building in the new Arasaka Research District of Night City? A seaside amphibious zoo? Are you opening a literal zoo now—to give Night City's residents, who only know how to fight, get high, and screw, some cultural entertainment? Weldon Holt—that fat deputy mayor—should kneel and kiss your toes."
"Spare me. You also signed the development contract for the new district—if Holt wants to kiss someone's toes, he can start with you. As for the park, who said I'd open it to the public without restrictions? It's a welfare project for Arasaka's hardworking employees and loyal supporters. As for the animals—hmph, do you think I'll scour the world for lions, tigers, and wolves? No, no. Arasaka's zoo must have its own sense of class. I've prepared a unique name and exhibits for it."
"I'm listening."
"Jurassic Park."
"Hah?"
...
While the only two 'third-generation members' of Arasaka chatted leisurely, beneath the blue-tiled, white-walled gate adorned with white lanterns, two figures stood waiting—a cyber-ninja with a distinctive accent, Goro Takemura, and his companion, Sandayu Oda.
"Miss Vela, Miss Michiko."
The use of first names rather than surnames and titles reflected not only closeness but a shift in status from the previous year's New Year's Eve.
"Takemura, Oda."
Vela nodded in acknowledgment.
Bowing slightly, Takemura and Oda reported, "Saburo-sama has prepared the banquet. Lord Yorinobu has already arrived."
Vela and Michiko exchanged a subtle glance.
Vela instantly understood the meaning in Michiko's eyes—it was something like: Yorinobu, who hasn't attended a family dinner in decades, actually agreed to spend New Year's Eve with the father he despises? Remarkable. It seems you've put quite some pressure on our dear uncle.
...
Within the main residence of the compound.
A delicate incense curled lazily through the air.
On the low dining tables arranged in traditional separation style, steam rose from freshly poured tea.
Just as in the previous year, the setting remained simple. Saburo Arasaka sat in the center. To his left: Yorinobu Arasaka, Shintaro Takayama. To his right: Hanako Arasaka—and two empty seats.
The room was utterly silent. Aside from Saburo slowly savoring his tea, everyone seemed lost in thought: Hanako was praying, Shintaro appeared half-asleep, and Yorinobu stared wordlessly at the household altar along the inner wall.
"Saburo-sama, Miss Vela and Miss Michiko have arrived."
Following the attendant's report and the sound of the sliding door opening, Shintaro opened his eyes.
Moments later, after a brief wash and change to remove the dust of travel, Vela and Michiko entered the room under the attendant's guidance.
"Sit."
Saburo raised a hand, halting Vela's attempt to bow, and gestured toward the two remaining cushions.
Vela had no objection.
She gave the seat nearest Hanako to Michiko and quietly settled herself at the far end.
Compared to the absence of the 2075–2076 New Year's Eve, this year's 2076–2077 gathering was, without doubt, complete. Outwardly harmonious, if not inwardly united.
For the first time, all living members of the Arasaka family were present under one roof.
In Vela's eyes, faint crystalline blue light rippled unseen as she clearly perceived the subtle emotional fluctuations of Saburo, Hanako, and Yorinobu.
So very complicated…