"President V's presence brings honor to Cloud Sea Base. Even on the Moon, your name is thunderous. To meet you today is my greatest honor."
The High Knight known as Lancelot stepped forward obediently, his manner exceedingly respectful.
The High Knights used codenames taken from the Knights of the Round Table, and even their speech carried an antiquated, overly refined tone—naturally arrogant, sounding both stiff and strange.
But as always, whether High Knights were strange or not had nothing to do with V.
She was here to be the boss.
V gave a casual "Mm."
Lucy seized the opportunity and asked, "What's going on with those tourists?"
The netrunner girl had noticed the Orbital Air insignia on the hovering tour bus.
If not for V, Lucy would likely have been just like them—scraping together 250,000 eurodollars to join an Orbital Air lunar tour. And she would probably have been squatting on the ground with them right now.
Empathy hit hard. She asked before she could stop herself—and immediately regretted it, afraid she might cause trouble for V.
After all, it had been said before:
High Knights hated Earth-borns.
Lancelot did hate Earth-borns—but he liked money.
If an ordinary person had asked, he wouldn't have bothered answering. But since the question came from someone accompanying V, he not only had to answer—he had to answer properly.
So Lancelot replied with great friendliness:
"These individuals damaged lunar regolith and seriously harmed the Moon's environment. According to regulations, they must undergo inspection and pay a fine of up to 100,000 eurodollars."
Blatant extortion.
If protecting the Moon was truly the goal, then why open lunar tourism at all?
But under someone else's roof, one had no choice but to bow.
No matter how powerful you were on Earth—official, gang boss, or corporate elite—on this patch of lunar ground, dragons had to coil and tigers had to crouch.
Refuse to comply?
Then you'd be dumped on the barren lunar surface and left to fend for yourself.
If you had the guts, swim back to Earth.
The High Knights weren't stupid. They'd long since discovered this lucrative path.
Nor were they reckless. They only targeted these group-tour "poor bastards"—people with no backing. Even if one died, it wouldn't cause trouble.
The Night City group came from high-end circles. They immediately understood the whole scheme.
Lucy was furious—but held her tongue. Same reason as before: she didn't want to trouble V.
The others also stayed silent.
But V spoke.
She wasn't a saint—but she couldn't stand seeing innocent people bullied.
Meeting them was fate. And fate gave her a reason to intervene.
She paid to be the boss—so she did what she wanted.
Enduring humiliation?
Not her style.
"Let them go."
"Yes."
Lancelot waved his hand, telling the tourists to scram. They fled as if pardoned from death.
Lucy was stunned.
That's it?
She'd expected verbal sparring, dramatic confrontation, maybe a flashy slap-down—like the old pulp novels she once found in secondhand shops.
David read her thoughts and patted her head.
"What're you thinking? That's President V."
Lucy suddenly understood.
Right. This was President V. Approachable, yes—but still one of Earth's true gods.
High Knights were local tyrants on the Moon—so what?
At the end of the day, they were just dogs raised by the European Space Agency.
V, on the other hand, was someone who could sit across from ESA as an equal, laughing and negotiating.
For a High Knight to challenge V was like an Arasaka 2077 gate guard demanding to check V's ID.
V might praise the guard's dedication—but the guard's fate would still be standing at that gate forever.
V had long since reached the peak of human society.
People either bowed to her—or called her friend.
No one dared point fingers at her.
Not ordinary people.
Not High Knights.
Not even the other so-called gods.
Among humans, V had no enemies—because she had already killed all who qualified.
The rest of the trip went smoothly.
Gawain and Lancelot escorted the group through Bailey Crater, their attitude respectful—bordering on fawning.
Two of humanity's most advanced humanoid combat mechs acted like tour guides in miniskirts, cheerfully explaining the crater's history, tossing in amusing anecdotes that had everyone laughing.
V was satisfied.
She transferred 20,000 eurodollars, ten thousand each.
At her level, money was meaningless. She paid that much mostly out of respect for the mechs.
After all, humanoid-mech tour guides offered far more emotional value than skirted humans.
Gawain and Lancelot were ecstatic.
Ten thousand eurodollars was a fortune even for top-tier High Knights.
Earth-born fat sheep were really easy to slaughter.
Empowered by money, they enthusiastically proposed more destinations.
V shook her head.
"Another day."
Gawain tensed.
"Did we do something wrong? Have we displeased you?"
"No," V waved it off.
"Your explanations were professional. I enjoyed them. But I already have plans. I'm visiting a friend this afternoon."
"I see. What a pity," Gawain said sincerely.
"I look forward to serving you again. Here's my contact—please reach out anytime."
V thanked him and led the group away.
Gawain watched her go, full of reluctance.
"That's enough already," Lancelot sneered.
"Pretending to be respectful is one thing—you're actually worshipping her."
Gawain shook his head calmly.
"If it were anyone else, maybe. But that was V. You've seen her record—someone like her appears once every few centuries."
"Hmph." Lancelot sneered.
"Mostly hype. Make enemies sound terrifying so your own failures don't look so bad. You and I both know the trick."
"We saw her in person. No presence, no authority. Laughing with subordinates, thanking us nonstop. Completely overrated—nowhere near Sir Arthur."
"If you ask me, she just got lucky. Arasaka imploded, Earth-borns are stupid. Put you or me in her position—we'd do better."
Gawain frowned.
"Watch your words."
"Watch my ass. You're scared of V—I'm not!"
Gawain's eyes widened.
"What are you planning?"
Lancelot grinned.
"Relax. I'm just going to make a little money off her."
Gawain expected resistance—but instead, he launched skyward without looking back.
"Die somewhere far away," he said.
"Don't splash blood on me."
Lancelot stared, then stomped the ground.
"Coward. You shame the High Knights!"
V knew nothing of this—and wouldn't have cared if she did.
Among humans, she had no enemies. Not because everyone liked her—but because no one qualified.
At noon, they enjoyed a lavish space meal.
In the afternoon, V led everyone to Cloud Sea Medical Center.
She truly was visiting a friend.
Song So-mi—Songbird.
So-mi had come to the Moon early for treatment. V hadn't told her she'd be coming.
When the whole group suddenly filled her hospital room, Songbird stared, dumbfounded like a stunned goose.
"Hey, Xiao Song, you look good," Alex smiled.
The others presented gifts—mostly supplements. Johnny gave his album. Misty gave a tarot deck.
Only those two actually had businesses—and neither was doing well—yet they never missed a chance to promote. Admirable, in its own tragic way.
So-mi hugged the pile of gifts, laughing and crying.
Her condition was electronic illness—basically cyberware maintenance. Supplements wouldn't help.
Yet her eyes burned red—probably another Blackwall-related system glitch.
"And you?" she looked at V.
"No gift?"
V spread her hands.
"Isn't me showing up the best gift?"
"Tch—narcissist." So-mi scolded lightly, then smiled.
"Thank you, V. Thank all of you. I'm really, really happy."
Then a certain tone-deaf rocker grabbed his crotch and said:
"Relax, we're family. Besides, we didn't come for you—we came for lunar tourism. Visiting you was just convenient."
So-mi froze.
"Tourism?"
"Yep. President V paid—we tagged along. All free, all awesome!" Alex sent photos.
"Bailey Crater group shot. This is lunch—real meat. One bite, grease everywhere!"
So-mi thought about her nutrient paste and started salivating.
"You bastard—doing this on purpose?"
"Yeah. You mad? Jealous?" Alex made faces.
So-mi was close to murder.
Nothing hurt more than suffering—except seeing old companions live better lives.
She thought she'd hit rock bottom.
Thirty minutes later, she discovered there was a deeper pit called despair.
She cherished this treatment opportunity and cared deeply for her room—cleaned it herself, decorated with holographic plants.
Now it was total chaos.
Johnny was singing with a guitar he found somewhere. Jackie and River cheered.
Misty read Alex's fortune—two future kids.
Rogue smoked, ash everywhere.
Sasha and Michiko played holo-games, dying eight hundred times in thirty minutes.
Worst of all—David and Lucy flirting in the corner. Lucy even put on a lab coat.
Full cosplay. Entire room was part of their play.
So-mi's temple throbbed.
She looked to V for help.
V was fiddling with her beloved holo-plant—shorted it out—panicked, tossed it, then kicked it under the desk while pretending nothing happened.
Red-black currents surged around Songbird.
Her last thread of sanity snapped.
"EVERYONE OUT!!!"
They were kicked out.
V rubbed her butt awkwardly—So-mi had kicked her.
"Lots of energy. Treatment's working," she said.
Everyone laughed.
"Will she recover?" Alex asked, worried.
So-mi's cyberware conversion was 92%, second only to Adam Smasher's 96%.
"She'll be fine. I paid a fortune. First, cyberware lightening. Then data purge. Then top-tier synthetic skin. She'll be just like before."
V shouted to the window,
"Rest well, So-mi! I've got a job waiting for you at Arasaka 2077!"
A broken holo-plant flew out.
"GET LOST!!!"
They happily scattered.
Inside, So-mi sulked—then smiled.
The mess was hard to clean—but this human chaos was the proof of life.
She cursed and cleaned, savoring existence.
She wanted to live.
But someone else wanted to die.
The next day, Lancelot returned.
No mech this time—High Knight uniform.
He stood 2.13 meters tall, pale, slender—thin to Earth eyes, perfect to lunar standards.
"President V. I've been waiting."
"What do you want?" V was displeased. Anyone blocking her hotel entrance needed to learn manners.
"There's a secret club at Cloud Sea Base. Members only. Very… exciting. I can take you."
Exciting?
That kind of exciting?
V glanced around.
"Since everyone wants to go—let's go."
Everyone: Yes yes yes, we want to go.
Sasha and Michiko twisted her waist.
They followed Lancelot through twists and turns, entering through a souvenir shop's basement.
A secret club.
An underground arena.
Bare-knuckle death matches.
Blood flew. One man died and was boxed away.
Gamblers—mostly Moon-born—cheered wildly.
V was unimpressed.
"That's it?"
"Unlimited combat. No rules. Death allowed," Lancelot boasted.
"You can experience thrills impossible on Earth."
In his worldview, Earth-borns were weak, bound by law—nothing like Moon-born warriors.
Surely V had never seen this.
David replied innocently:
"What's thrilling about this? There's unlimited combat outside my apartment every day. Last time some idiot died in the elevator—body stayed two months. I stepped over him every day. Stank like hell."
River added:
"Night City streets are worse. Maelstrom vs Scavs—then a cyberpsycho with blade limbs wiped them all. Organs everywhere. Blood so thick you needed non-slip boots."
Johnny scoffed:
"Bare-knuckle fighting? Try nukes. That's thrilling."
Even the women were unimpressed.
Lancelot was stunned.
Weren't Earth-borns supposed to be fragile?
V didn't bother explaining.
She was annoyed at the wasted time.
"Thanks for the tour, Mr. Lancelot. We're not interested."
She transferred 500 eurodollars as courtesy and turned to leave.
Why would she watch Moon black fights when Earth had better ones?
Lancelot snapped.
Maybe by V's attitude—or the 500 eddies.
He shouted a challenge.
"President V! I hear you defeated Earth's strongest warrior, Adam Smasher. I'm the strongest High Knight. Let's spar. Wager—10,000 eurodollars."
Win: earn 10k.
Lose: just return yesterday's money.
He never imagined losing.
Night City group was stunned.
And when did Adam Smasher become "Earth's strongest"? Did Kenshin Saburo, Goro Takemura, or all corporate super-soldiers agree?
They looked at Lancelot like a country bumpkin.
V was about to accept—she hadn't punched anyone in a while.
"I—"
Her phone rang.
"What? I see. I'm heading back."
She hung up.
River met her gaze.
"You heard too?"
"Yeah. NCPD secured the scene."
"Let's go. The Moon trip ends here."
As they turned, Lancelot taunted again.
"Running away, President V?"
Jackie, David, and River tensed.
V raised her hand.
Her eyes glowed blue—then dimmed.
"Let's go. I've arranged our return flight."
They left.
"Ha! So much for famous V—ran with her tail between her legs!"
Lancelot gloated—until Gawain arrived with armed soldiers.
"Missed the show," Lancelot sneered.
"That V you worship? She ran."
Gawain sent him a file.
"Lancelot. Tourist complaints confirm abuse of authority and illegal extortion. By Round Table Council decision, you are stripped of knight status and reassigned as probationary attendant to Blackstone Helium-3 Mining Facility for 100 years. Effective immediately."
Lancelot was stunned.
"This is a joke! I extorted a few tourists—everyone does! I demand to see Sir Arthur!"
He struggled. Guns rose.
Gawain shut down all his cyberware. The "strongest knight" collapsed.
"V called ESA directly," Gawain whispered.
"Now you understand. We are all mortals. Before gods—we are ants."
Ignoring pleas, Gawain raised his hand.
"Take him. Execute per law."
Meanwhile, V boarded the shuttle.
She'd called ESA to requisition a jet—then casually mentioned she didn't like Lancelot.
ESA didn't ask why.
Just a soldier.
How they handled it—neither asked.
The group didn't care about Lancelot.
They cared why V was rushing back.
V rested her chin in her hand.
"The mayor of Night City," she said quietly,
"Lucius Rhyne is dead."