Night City struggled and adapted under the new order, while outside the city, on the turbulent sea, the Arasaka white whale aircraft carrier battle group was enveloped in a suffocating, impending storm.
Rage, like a potent poison, spread fiercely along the power lines of the Arasaka high command.
This had long transcended mere military defeat—their proud oni power armor legion was crushed by that mysterious iron torrent, and the crucial Arasaka Waterfront logistics hub was reduced to scorched earth in just half an hour. These were losses that could still be calculated.
But now, a humiliation that struck at the empire's very foundation was starkly displayed before the entire world: the administrator AI, pushed onto the stage by Osiris to become Night City's new master, had its core image and digital persona derived from Arasaka Kei, Arasaka's eldest son, who had fallen fifty years ago!
To the civilians of Night City, and even to analysts from Militech and Kang Tao, this might simply be an efficient yet unfamiliar management program.
But in the eyes of Yorinobu Arasaka, Takayama Shintaro, and especially the aging empire controller in that deep Tokyo mansion, the appearance of that face—the heir who had been nurtured with immense resources as the blueprint for the empire's future—was nothing short of the most malicious blasphemy.
Inside the white whale's bridge command center, the air was so heavy it felt like it could be wrung out.
Takayama Shintaro stared intently at the holographic screen displaying "Arasaka Kei" as he declared city management regulations. A vein throbbed violently on his temple, and his clenched fists were white at the knuckles from excessive force, his nails digging into his palms unnoticed.
Every calm byte uttered by the AI felt like an invisible slap, harshly striking his face.
Beside him, Yorinobu Arasaka maintained his usual gloominess on the surface, but deeper currents of more complex emotions surged beneath his eyes.
There was shock at the "reappearance" of his estranged elder brother, who had once tried to kill him, in such a manner, and even more, a furious rage at Osiris' provocative act.
However, beneath this sea of anger, there was also a twisted pleasure he himself was unwilling to acknowledge—the "perfect heir" who always overshadowed him, the indelible mark in his father's heart, was now reduced to an enemy's puppet. Was this not the most biting irony directed at that old monster?
"He... how dare he!" Takayama Shintaro's voice was squeezed through gritted teeth, trembling with disbelief and overflowing with hatred. "Using Young Master Kei's... This is blasphemy! It's the most malicious insult to the entire Arasaka Empire!"
Yorinobu snorted, his voice hoarse: "Of course he dares. He is telling us now that, in his eyes, Arasaka's past, present, and even future heirs are nothing more than tools and data that he can use at will."
He understood Osiris' actions better than Takayama; this was not merely slapping Arasaka in the face, but brutally carving into Saburo Arasaka's most sensitive, most unwillingly touched old wound.
This slap, crossing the vast Pacific Ocean, landed precisely in Tokyo, in that silent, tomb-like, heavily guarded Japanese estate.
Saburo Arasaka, the old man who had controlled the Arasaka Empire for nearly a century, was deeply ensconced in his specialized chair, the regular and faint hum of his life support system forming a sharp contrast to his violently fluctuating emotions.
On the holographic screen before him, the face of the "administrator" AI was clearly frozen—that face was calm, serious, bearing a style of conduct and inner temperament he had once been incredibly familiar with, even secretly approved of, almost identical to his own.
Unlike the rebellious Yorinobu, who always harbored resistance, Arasaka Kei was truly Saburo Arasaka's creation, meticulously cultivated as per the empire's heir blueprint, with great effort, even if it involved rigorous polishing and ruthless scrutiny.
This son might not have fully met his initial expectations in terms of pioneering spirit and certain key decisions, and even concealed the fact that he had left behind a bloodline in America in his personal life, but it was undeniable that, most of the time, Arasaka Kei's performance was far closer to the standard of a qualified heir than Yorinobu's.
He was steady, ruthless, and adept at strategizing, always placing family interests above all else.
Had it not been for the sudden accident of the Fourth Corporate War, Saburo would have long planned to gradually transfer power into the hands of his eldest son.
For decades, Saburo forced himself to bury this grief of losing a son deep in his memories, dedicating all his energy to consolidating the empire's foundation and to controlling and taming Yorinobu, his "second choice."
Yet now, Osiris had not only unearthed Arasaka Kei from a data grave but had also publicly transformed him into an "attendant" AI serving an enemy!
This was tantamount to publicly nailing the former crown prince of the Arasaka Empire, the heir Saburo Arasaka had painstakingly cultivated, to a pillar of shame, allowing outsiders to observe, comment, and even command him!
"Bang!"
A dull thud broke the silence in the room.
Saburo's withered, Eagle Claw-like hand slammed onto the armrest of his chair; though the blow was weak due to his age, it fully revealed the tumultuous rage within him.
On his deeply wrinkled face, muscles twitched uncontrollably, and deep-set eyes shot out a chilling gaze capable of freezing the air.
For Saburo, who had always prided himself on remaining calm even when mountains crumbled before him, this loss of composure was remarkably rare.
If the master is shamed, the subordinate dies.
This maxim, originating from ancient East and revered in Japanese culture, now hung like an invisible sharp blade over the head of every Arasaka executive on the white whale.
In ancient times, if a samurai's lord suffered humiliation, it could only be washed away with blood—either by taking the enemy's head or by performing seppuku to demonstrate loyalty.
Even under the guise of a modern corporation, this feudal tradition of loyalty to one's lord stubbornly persisted in Arasaka's bloodstream, even deliberately reinforced as a spiritual shackles to maintain power.
Takayama Shintaro's back was tense, clearly feeling this immense pressure.
This pressure came both from the silent yet piercing gaze from the deep Tokyo mansion and from Yorinobu's cold, bone-chilling stare beside him, but deeper still, it stemmed from the concept of loyalty instilled in him since childhood.
He knew better than anyone that if he could not respond in the most intense and resolute way at this moment, then he, Takayama Shintaro, would not be fit to continue commanding Arasaka's fleet, and would only be able to show loyalty to his lord in the most "traditional" way—with his life.
All calm strategic analyses, all rational considerations of pros and cons, were completely swallowed by the surging sense of humiliation at this moment.
International condemnation that might arise from extending the war into the city? Potential military and political repercussions later? These considerations no longer mattered.
Only one burning thought remained in Takayama Shintaro's mind—Night City, and the so-called "Archmagos" who had blasphemed Arasaka's honor, must pay the most terrible price for their arrogance!
Only blood and fire could wash away this deeply ingrained shame.