Night had fallen—silent, still. Passing through security, footsteps echoed softly in the sterile corridor. After several paces, the space opened wide, revealing rows of biosafety cabinets.
Sterilization lamps glowed. The cool air was thick with sterile humidity. Entering the storage chamber, a researcher swiped an ID card and logged their entry, approaching to inspect the indexed samples.
Before the final cabinet, the view froze.
—[2076-12-18 Temporary Designation: Tyrant-Ghoul-118-09 Fusion Virus (T-G-Progenitor-Veronica-Ghoul Fusion Variant)]
With a flicker, a holographic display lit up. Behind the polarized, adjustable glass of the secure cabinet rested a spiral-shaped vial no larger than a pen shaft, sealed beneath reinforced containment layers.
Inside it swirled a viscous, oily crimson fluid—gleaming like liquefied blood.
Born from the [Sonnentreppe Project], it was the prototype of a new generation of super-viruses.
...
"Hah… so this is it? Vela's latest achievement in biomedical engineering?"
Removing his braindance headset, Yorinobu Arasaka widened his weary, bloodshot eyes. Turning slightly, the pale blue glow of his PDA screen reflected in his nearly natural irises.
What he had just witnessed through the BD wasn't a public release—it was an unedited original recorded by a senior researcher stationed at Arasaka Biotech Laboratory [Tokyo].
Unlike the mass-market versions, which were heavily edited and firewalled, raw braindance recordings were immersive—allowing the viewer to freely move and observe the precise details of the recorder's environment.
For that reason, such unfiltered BDs were invaluable in the field of intelligence.
Buzz. His PDA vibrated softly.
[13-357 | Encrypted: Yes, Lord Yorinobu.]
A genderless synthetic voice came through—digitally distorted, identity concealed.
[13-357 | Encrypted: Its existence is nothing short of miraculous. If Lady Vela's hypothesis proves correct, the successful development of this fusion virus could mark a monumental leap in human life sciences—from the crude, forced extensions of lifespan to true human completion and evolution…]
"Spare me the sales pitch."
Rubbing his temples, Yorinobu cut in, having already memorized every detail of the environment.
"How long until you've rebuilt the infiltration network—until the channels into and out of the bioresearch center are fully open?"
[13-357 | Encrypted: Uh, please allow me two more months… I don't dare ask what you intend, my lord, but you know as well as I do—after Vela reassigned personnel to Night City, we lost many operatives. Replacements are scarce. This is delicate work. One misstep and my whole family dies…]
"Understood."
Yorinobu nodded solemnly, his tone grave but encouraging. "I can wait. It's only a matter of paperwork and endurance—risking my life for two or three more months against Vela. Take care of yourself. Don't rush. No reckless moves—steady progress only."
His gaze wavered, clouds of conflicting emotion crossing his eyes before he added softly, "The rise and fall of the empire depends on this."
[13-357 | Encrypted: Hai! (Yes, sir!) Please take care as well, my lord. Both Arasaka and the Empire need you. Signing off.]
The synthetic voice quickened with emotion despite its digital modulation.
"Yeah… take care."
Beep— The line disconnected.
Yorinobu lowered his head. His calm mask twisted into something darker.
The reflexive disgust of one who had just spoken lies.
"The empire's survival?"
He snorted bitterly. "To hell with your empire."
Only monsters cared about that cursed empire.
But he had no choice.
"Sigh…"
He exhaled deeply, tossing the PDA onto the table after wiping its logs and reformatting it. Rising to his feet, he slid open the paper door, stepping toward the small bar built into the private chamber.
Grabbing a bottle of shōchū, he twisted the cap and drank straight from it. The liquid burned its way down, a wave of heat blooming in his chest.
Savoring the lingering burn of the shōchū, Yorinobu forced the bitterness in his heart to subside.
After witnessing his "dear niece," Arasaka's "beloved granddaughter," Vela, blossom into brilliance—no matter how long he had led the hawkish faction, no matter how diligently he played the role of the dutiful son, no matter how fiercely he pushed himself to excel—
His decline in influence and standing was visible to the naked eye.
Even his once-solid base had begun to splinter.
He had no choice but to seek the support of those he had long despised—the stubborn relics of a bygone age, older and more obstinate than even his father Saburo Arasaka. In other words: the remnants of imperial militarism, blockheaded fools clinging to racial purity, fundamentalist monarchists who refused to evolve.
Each and every one of them—reactionary fossils that should have been swept into the dustbin of history.
Even after all reality's blows, their acceptance of Vela had limits.
After all, even Saburo himself, following the humiliation of the Fourth Corporate War and the loss of his eldest son Kei Arasaka, had grown relatively open-minded—or rather, had been forced to accept the world's realities.
For example, the Arasaka Board now had a Black director—a concept unthinkable before the Fourth War.
Vela's rise had only accelerated this transformation.
Global commentators now widely agreed: Vela's ascension symbolized Arasaka's evolution—from a blood-bound Japanese family empire into a truly intercontinental corporation, breaking its own feudal shell.
Of course, the CEO and Chairman would likely always bear the Arasaka name. But surnames could be granted—bestowed as marks of merit.
Those with ability, service, and virtue… could become Arasaka.
Resistance to change, however, was inevitable. To the die-hard purists clinging to outdated values, this evolution was heresy.
Yes, Vela was competent—brilliant, even. But in their eyes, as a "foreign barbarian," it was already a divine mercy that she'd been allowed to bear the Arasaka name, to join the board, to serve as continental CEO, even to become Arasaka's second-in-command.
The top seat—the family head, the chairman—was out of the question. That sacred "Yasakani Magatama" of power belonged solely to Arasaka's Japanese bloodline—to their eyes, to Saburo's descendants, whether by birth or adoption.
And Vela's ambition to seize that very throne was no secret.
Naturally, the hardliners had rallied around Yorinobu.
For all his flaws, his reborn discipline and leadership now rivaled the late Kei Arasaka's. And Yorinobu, still unwilling to admit defeat, still chasing a dream, found their loyalty useful enough to tolerate.
It was, as one might say, a reluctant alliance born of necessity.
"Heh."
Yorinobu gave a hollow chuckle, tilting his head back for another swig of shōchū, the bottle swinging idly in his hand.
Would the members of Steel Dragons despise him if they saw the wreck he'd become?
Could his redemption still succeed?
Would he win?
He asked himself.
He didn't know.
Only within a megacorporation could one truly grasp the insignificance of an individual—the suffocating despair and helplessness in the face of a cyber-industrial titan.
Still, if his plan succeeded—
If he secured the fusion virus samples, the Sonnentreppe Project data, and the Relic prototype chips… then, while Vela was locked in open conflict with New America, he could strike. A sudden trip to North America—sell Arasaka's most coveted secrets to outside powers, ignite the fuse for a Fifth Corporate War, shatter Vela's groundwork, and drag every other megacorporation into the abyss.
That was the essence of his plan, stripped of embellishment and contingencies.
Crude. Reckless. Suicidal.
For a fleeting moment, Yorinobu felt like a moth drawn to the flame—a creature seeking its own death.
But sadly, this was the limit of what he could do.
His situation was collapsing. There was no retreat left. Time was running out.
If he stalled any longer, faced with Vela's relentless, righteous campaign for succession—not only might his body fail under the strain, but Saburo's attitude had grown unmistakable.
He was being abandoned.
Saburo's "abandonment" of him didn't mean letting his younger son die or drift away entirely.
It simply meant that Saburo had given up the idea of Yorinobu ever surpassing Vela. If he couldn't suppress her, then he should step aside.
Compete if you must—but if you lose, accept it. Preserve what remains of your faction's foundation, enough to restrain Vela's unchecked rise. Then, take time to reflect, abandon those indulgent habits, find a proper match, and produce a legitimate heir to continue the family bloodline.
That, most likely, was the future that awaited him if he failed—plain and predictable, laid out before him like a straight road to mediocrity.
Yorinobu felt a deep torment in his heart, unsure whether to feel relieved or desolate.
Relieved, because Saburo had grown calmer toward him—thanks to his submission and humility.
Moreover, Saburo's personal health and direct oversight of Arasaka's banking division—one of the corporation's three main pillars—meant that his focus was now largely fixed on managing Arasaka's European strategies. This gave Yorinobu the room he needed for his covert maneuvers.
But desolate, because the position of heir—the crown prince—was gone.
Even if he murdered his father, Shintaro Takayama and the senior retainers would not necessarily support him. He was no longer the sole candidate.
With Vela and Michiko Arasaka united, they could operate independently, following orders but not obeying authority. One misstep could fracture the family beyond repair—a scenario Yorinobu could never allow, for his grand design required a unified, powerful Arasaka.
He thought deeply, searching for ways to fill the gaps in his strategy.
But the more he thought, the more frustration welled up. Fatigue, confusion—sometimes even madness.
Enemies on all sides. No allies. Only the crushing loneliness buried in his chest. It was too much.
One sip after another—he didn't know how long it had been. By the time the 1.8-liter bottle was empty, Yorinobu slumped against the wall for a long time. Eventually, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he stood again.
Despite everything, he already knew his answer.
He was not Arasaka Yorinobu.
He was Steel Dragon Yorinobu.
He would be the destroyer within the system—a warrior willing to become a dragon only to slay one. A moth drawn to the flame.
Just like his rebellion years ago, this was the promise he'd made to his followers.
Whether alone, misunderstood, scorned, or abandoned—he would not change. Effort without reward, isolation in the heights, the cold void of ambition… He had endured before, and he would again.
Glancing at the childhood photo of himself with his sister and mother, he smiled faintly.
Ding-ling. A calendar reminder chimed.
Nap time was over. To maintain his role in the power struggle, he had to return to work—to act the dutiful son once more.
Without hesitation, he left the private chamber. His elongated shadow stretched across the sliding paper doors, swaying like a coiled dragon waiting to strike.
...
Two flowers, two paths—each blooming apart.
Time passed.
To the spectators of the world, by February of 2077, the once-sensational North American conflicts had fallen back into the usual, hollow theater between Arasaka and Militech—loud talk, light skirmishes, endless stalemates.
Tensions simmered, rhetoric flew—but both sides stood steady, barking without biting.
The public's attention waned. The "2077-01 North American Border Incident" had cooled, and every faction now claimed victory:
Arasaka—won.
Militech—won.
Free States Alliance—won.
New America—won.
Barghest—won.
Lazarus—won.
Everyone won.
So who lost? No one could say.
After much posturing, Arasaka was the first to make internal adjustments, signaling no intent to escalate the conflict.
Early February: the mysterious wave of "sudden illnesses" and "retirements" among Arasaka employees abruptly ceased. Arthur Jenkins, acting Director of Special Operations and former Counter-Intelligence Director, took medical retirement, citing health issues.
Mid-February: Jimmy Warren (formerly Assistant Adjutant) was promoted to Director of Special Operations. Rahm, the retired SAT commander, returned to active duty as First Deputy Director of the Security Bureau.
Late February: Arasaka initiated a sweeping reorganization:
Shinichi Tanaka of Development Division promoted to Deputy Project Director.
Bryan, former black bodyguard and Section Chief of Security Bureau's 3rd Division, promoted to Assistant Director.
Laurie, former white bodyguard and Section Chief of 4th Division, also promoted to Assistant Director.
Early March: Valerie (V) of Counter-Intelligence Division Three was promoted to Acting Director of Counter-Intelligence, entering an evaluation period—disproving rumors of a Jenkins faction purge.
Mid-March: Arasaka News quietly reported that the retired Arthur Jenkins had been hospitalized due to poor health.
Tokyo: the Adelheid-class supercarrier launched from Wu Naval Shipyards, completing sea trials and officially entering service. It departed with its escort fleet for Night City.
Late March: Having toured Olympia, Seattle, Salem, San Francisco, Sacramento, Carson City, Phoenix, and Boise, Vela finally concluded her inspection tour of the western states. After parting with Michiko Arasaka in Los Angeles, she returned to Night City.
At the same time, after more than a week at sea, the Vela Adelheid supercarrier—having completed combat readiness drills and full operational calibration—arrived off the coast of Night City.