Echoing footsteps resounded across the floor, the PVC tiles beneath them still maintaining that new-militarist cold hue, even within the medical sector.
The soft glow of LED shadowless lamps spilled through the geometrically patterned carbon-crystal panels, scattering faint, delicate specks of light across the hall.
The glass of the medical pod and the monitors displaying vital signs reflected the silhouettes of those who had come to witness this transfer of power.
They lined both sides of the entrance, forming walls of people both inside and outside the room—company executives, military officers, low-ranking medical staff, and even the old remnants from Kei Arasaka's era.
Under the lights, as the meeting of the mighty—old and young—finally occurred, everyone present held their breath.
"Has the calamity caused by Yorinobu's foolishness... been quelled?" Inside the pod, Saburo Arasaka slowly opened his weary eyes and asked hoarsely.
"It has been quelled," Vela replied.
"And where is he now?" Saburo asked again.
"Second Uncle... has passed," Vela answered.
"..." Silence.
The entire medical sector seemed to have its sound muted, leaving only the rhythmic ticking of the machines and Saburo's heavy, rasping breath—like that of a dried-up stream.
Vela's heart was calm as still water. Without showing a trace of emotion, she glanced toward the doorway—where Michiko Arasaka stood quietly, gaze lowered, feigning calm. You didn't tell the old man that our dear uncle's head was rolling on the floor?
They had left in a hurry, and with all the chaos on the return trip, Vela hadn't had time to ask what Saburo already knew after waking up.
After all, it wasn't worth overplaying her hand now that everything was settled.
Catching Vela's look, Michiko understood immediately. She spread her hands slightly, tilted her head, and shrugged.
Her meaning was clear: Not my problem.
Beep-beep. [The old man didn't ask, so I didn't say. Saburo woke up demanding to see you. He's so weak and groggy... and honestly, when it comes to telling someone their son and my brother killed each other—it's better that our would-be Octavian handle it herself.] Michiko's message.
Vela arched a brow, nodding slightly to show she understood.
She looked back at Saburo. The old emperor, bereaved of his son, appeared half-asleep, his emotions buried deep beneath a mask of frailty.
Suddenly, the transparent medical pod filled with faintly pink nutrient fluid made a bubbling sound.
"Deharau (Leave us)." Saburo's gaze lifted. His hunched back straightened slightly as he spoke in a deep, commanding tone. "Let me speak with Vela. Michiko, you stay."
Shff-shff.
Before long, everyone—including the medical staff—had quietly withdrawn.
Click. The protective doors sealed shut, leaving only three people inside the spacious room.
Saburo forced himself to focus, his aged voice trembling but firm. "I want to know... everything."
Vela nodded and stepped forward. Picking up the PDA resting on the medical counter, she activated the device with temporary security authorization, projecting the archived footage from the Security Division's [Night City] operational logs.
"Approximately 00:00 hours on the 20th..."
...
After listening to and watching Vela's concise report, Saburo fell silent.
Once he had absorbed the details—the suppression of the rebellion, the expulsion of the NUSA and Militech intervention forces, Yorinobu's madness and death at Vela's hand, his severed head displayed across the world, and the freezing of his T-G-118-09 fusion-virus-mutated corpse—his expression twisted. His lips trembled, but in the end, all that escaped was a bitter, wordless sigh.
"Yorinobu... this was how you sought to prove yourself? Through fratricide and lunacy—boiling the beans to burn the stalks? Hmph... Foolish as a deer and as dim as a pig! And yet... the weakness I so despised... that lack of resolve... was my own blindness to see."
With the old man's rasping voice trembling with wrath, his withered hand clenched silently. His fingernails, pressed tight, turned pale blue from strain.
At his side, Vela sighed softly—sounding sympathetic, resigned—but her mind had already drifted far away.
Her clear eyes shimmered faintly, a blue Geass-like glow rippling through them as she peered into the frail soul before her.
What she saw was intense, tangled emotion—shame, regret, loathing, twisted admiration, diseased pride, hollow grief... all woven together like a knot of serpents.
In short—love and hate, interlaced.
Did Saburo love Yorinobu?
Vela didn't know.
Perhaps once, he did.
But now... what remained was likely nothing but hate.
Shame at being overthrown by the son he had always scorned. Regret for his arrogance and lack of prudence. Deep hatred toward Yorinobu for his betrayal and the ruin he had brought to Saburo's grand design. Pride in his son's courage to draw his blade. A twisted respect for his idealistic death. And sorrow over the collapse of the Relic Possession Project—Vela could only speculate these were the emotions surging through the old man.
Such a tangled heart.
"..." Silence fell once again, lasting until the health monitor emitted a sharp alarm. The AI prompted Saburo to cease overthinking and rest.
Only then did he turn toward Vela with great effort.
"Is this what you wanted?" His brows furrowed, the muscles of his withered face twitching from the strain of his failing body.
A deathtrap of a question—but one that demanded an answer.
"Not subjectively," Vela said softly, lifting her gaze. She shook her head and sighed faintly. "This was never what I wanted. Bearing the name of Arasaka while carrying the stigma of kin-slayer—it's something I have always sought to avoid."
"But..." She took a step forward. "It was Yorinobu who brought this upon himself!"
Her voice sharpened—steady, without fear or hesitation, her ambition laid bare.
"I never intended to ignite a civil war or a grand purge."
"We should have staged a perfect play before the world—uncle and niece in harmony, Arasaka valuing talent over bloodline. But he betrayed me. He betrayed all of us."
"He stole the fruit of my countless research endeavors, conspired with Militech, and struck at both me and you, Grandfather. What is that, if not a knife in the back?"
"If he had succeeded—even halfway—everything I've built would have been for nothing!"
"I said it before: Militech must be annihilated! Arasaka only has one chance to rise again. If he wouldn't take that responsibility, if he couldn't—then I would!"
"If he wanted the life of a wealthy noble, burdened with power but none of the duty, I would have raised him high."
"But he chose the worst, the most foolish path."
"No one can stop me from winning this war, even if the cost of cutting away risk is patricide!"
"To destroy Militech—Arasaka's future belongs to us!" As she spoke, Vela extended her hand, conjuring a blue holographic projection of Earth in her palm from the built-in projector in the room. "If Arasaka's future is to fall once more into ruin—to be carved apart by the vultures of the world—then I'd rather die! Let the world burn with me!"
The blue hologram suddenly burst into a fiery crimson bloom, simulating nuclear detonations engulfing the globe—turning the entire planet blood-red for a brief, searing moment—before she clenched her fist, crushing the projection into scattered light.
"Hah." Taking a deep breath, Vela locked eyes with Saburo. "That is what I want."
Michiko, standing to the side, widened her eyes slightly in surprise. She hadn't expected Vela to be so forthright—to all but declare herself the next Augustus.
Then again, this was Vela—her ambition was no secret. Such an honest answer was both startling and expected.
Michiko's gaze flickered between the two.
After listening, Saburo merely stared quietly at the adopted granddaughter who had given him so many surprises and triumphs. His old face revealed a complex expression before he exhaled softly.
How young she was.
Her hair, tied in a golden knot, gleamed under the light. Her eyes, bright and sharp, and even the vitality flowing through her cybernetic frame radiated an energy no machine could suppress—her confidence, her brilliance, her unshakable will.
She was in her prime—radiant and unstoppable.
And he... was once again an old man, frail and fading, more so than ever before.
The end was near.
He knew his own condition better than anyone. After waking, the first thing Saburo had done—besides summoning Vela—was to ask the doctor about his body.
The answer had been grim: his body, barely recovered, had been infected by the G-embryo of the fusion virus, leading to catastrophic cellular depletion. The hyper-accelerated cell division had caused rapid deterioration of his organs and systemic collapse.
Saburo could feel his own body thriving one moment, decaying the next.
He hated it. He feared it. He could not accept it—but he could not fight it either.
Though he refused to admit it aloud, he knew—this body was beyond saving.
This time, regardless of whether Vela's ambition had been fueled or whether she had secretly abetted Yorinobu's rebellion, the truth remained: the Fifth Corporate War was raging on, and the American front could not spare her. She had neither the time nor the focus to resume the Sonnentreppe or Fusion Virus projects.
Even if she did, her priority—and duty—would always be military development and weapons innovation.
Unless the war ended, and Vela were forcibly recalled to oversee those programs, it would be impossible. Nearly hopeless.
In the short term, with Arasaka having fully transitioned into wartime industrial production, relying solely on the Tokyo Tower headquarters to push forward small-scale new project development carried far too much uncertainty.
Should they chase an uncertain hope for survival—or prioritize the total destruction of Militech, the company Saburo loathed above all others?
Saburo made his choice.
"Time, fate, destiny..." he murmured, closing his eyes. His bloodless face showed exhaustion as he uttered words that, to Vela and Michiko, sounded like resignation.
After a moment, he reopened his eyes. "Remember your vow, Vela."
"Do not disappoint me. Do not disappoint Shintaro, Hanako, or Michiko."
"Destroy Militech..."
"The position of CEO of Arasaka... is now yours."
...
Click. The protective door opened.
"Please rest well, sir. I've already notified Shintaro to come escort you," Vela said calmly before leaving the room with Michiko.
Inside the medical pod, Saburo muttered faintly to himself, "You'd rather die than submit to my will, Yorinobu?"
"You've left me no choice."
As the breath he'd been holding escaped, dizziness swept over him. A wave of pain struck his skull, and in his half-conscious state, he seemed to hear Yorinobu's mocking laughter echoing in his mind: 'Father, this time—you've lost! I made you lose! Hahaha...'
Tap, tap.
Medical personnel re-entered the room. In the silence, Saburo soon drifted into sleep.
...
"My lady." The speaker was James Thomas, a senior executive who had once mentored Vela—now the Vice President of Arasaka Tower, Night City. Stepping forward, he examined her demeanor and asked, "What did Lord Saburo say?"
Vela's eyes gleamed faintly with Geass light. Straightening her back, she raised her chin, calm and composed, sweeping her gaze across the gathered Arasaka executives and military officers—some listening in silent anticipation, others standing at rigid attention.
"From this moment," she declared evenly, "I will act as the interim CEO of Arasaka."
The announcement, though expected, drew a wave of barely contained excitement—quickly silenced by Vela's cold gesture.
Lord Arasaka had only just been gravely injured and confined to a medical pod; today also marked Yorinobu's death anniversary, and the coup had only just ended. Any open celebration was unacceptable.
"Hold a press conference regarding the suppression of the May 20 mutiny," Vela ordered. "Don't let certain parties grow impatient. The world must be informed—the new era of Arasaka has begun."
"Yes, ma'am!" replied Mizuno Masao, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, bowing swiftly before hurrying off.
As they walked toward the war room, Michiko's lips curved into a faint, ambiguous smile. "What you said earlier—" Ding. A message came through: [Even if the cost of cutting away risk is patricide—did you mean that?]
Vela turned to her, smiling serenely. "We're sisters united in purpose, aren't we?"
No denial, no clarification. My heart and my deeds are as dark as midnight lenses; everything I do, I do in the name of progress.
"Yes," Michiko replied softly.
The two women shared a smile—plastic sisters, bound by ambition.
As they walked, discussing the previous night's disturbance at Arasaka Tower, Vela's thoughts began to drift, her mind turning inward.
[You've done well. You can put the 'warehouse duties' aside now.]
...
"Biohazard."
San Francisco Bay Area, CBD Central District, Militech Headquarters Building.
"Oh, the great lady's finally done—stopped bossing everyone around?" A stylish urban woman in a light-gold pinstripe suit emerged from a hidden titanium-alloy pneumatic gate. She paused before the adjustable polarized glass window, gazing out at the horizon—where new skyscrapers were rising one after another.
—
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