The destructive flames ignited by Margaret and Maria in Tokyo Bay were reflected on the main control screen of the Wasteland Town laboratory in Night City, thousands of kilometers away.
Osiris' crimson optical lenses watched the processed battlefield footage, broadcast in real-time by the administrator. Data streams calmly assessed the combat effectiveness of the knight mecha and the collapse rate of Arasaka's defense system. Everything was within calculation, without surprise.
Just then, a servo-skull emitted a soft chime, projecting a communication request—from Militech's highest liaison officer in Night City.
"Speak," Osiris connected the channel.
"Lord Magos," the liaison officer's voice carried a hint of relief after completing a task, and an imperceptible reverence, "Following your instructions, we had a 'special harvest' during the search and rescue operation to clear the wreckage of the Arasaka fleet.
After identity verification, it was confirmed to be Yorinobu Arasaka himself. He sustained some injuries, but his vital signs are stable. He has now been delivered to the reception area outside your laboratory."
Osiris' processor instantly retrieved all known data about Yorinobu Arasaka.
This nominal heir to the Arasaka Empire had, in past records, consistently played the role of a resistor and a rebel.
A person dedicated to destroying the empire built by his own family, his internal drive and thought patterns, in Osiris' view, held more research value than those who simply pursued power.
"Bring him to the observation room," Osiris issued the command, then temporarily moved the Tokyo battlefield monitoring to run in the background.
The observation room was located at the edge of the laboratory complex, with a minimalist style. The walls were smooth metal composite materials, and other than the alloy chair fixed to the floor in the center and the surveillance camera in the corner of the ceiling, it was empty. A faint smell of disinfectant permeated the air.
Yorinobu Arasaka was brought in by two Militech soldiers on a hover stretcher.
He looked quite disheveled, wearing standard patient clothing, with multiple burns and sutured marks visible on his exposed skin, one arm in a cast, and abrasions on his face from an explosion.
But his eyes were exceptionally clear, even carrying an indescribable… sense of relief.
The soldiers carefully placed him on the alloy chair, then silently retreated, and the heavy airtight door slid shut soundlessly.
The light in the observation room was constant, and a subtle ripple appeared in the air. A ghostly blue beam of light materialized, quickly condensing into a holographic image of a dark-haired, dark-eyed East Asian youth.
His face was calm, his figure tall and straight, dressed in simple dark clothing, without any superfluous gestures or expressions. He simply stood silently a few meters in front of Yorinobu, his gaze focused on this severely injured "prisoner."
Yorinobu raised his head, looking at the suddenly appearing projection. There was no fear on his face; instead, he pulled at the corners of his mouth, revealing a smile mixed with pain and mockery.
"Heh… It seems my 'great' father, and everything he cherished, has finally met its end." His voice was a bit hoarse, but his tone carried satisfaction. "You did it, didn't you? That 'magic' that made the fleet self-destruct, and… the commotion in Tokyo."
Osiris' synthesized voice rang out steadily, not answering, but instead asking, "You don't seem angry about Arasaka's downfall, Yorinobu."
"Angry? No, why should I be angry?" Yorinobu coughed twice as if he had heard a joke, but because it pulled at his wounds, "I've dreamed of this day!
I've longed for this bloodsucking empire, this monster that alienates people into tools and drags the world into an abyss, to completely collapse! I only regret…"
His eyes dimmed for a moment, "I regret that it wasn't the fire I personally ignited that destroyed it, and I regret even more… that only Arasaka fell."
His gaze passed over Osiris, as if penetrating the walls, looking into the distance: "Militech, Kang Tao, Biotechnica, Petrochem… they still stand, continuing the same exploitation in a different way. This deformed system has not changed."
"So, your goal is to destroy all megacorporations," Osiris stated, the focus of his optical lenses subtly adjusting, capturing the slightest muscle tremors and physiological signals on Yorinobu's face. "For this, you lurked within Arasaka for decades, even instigating large-scale conflicts, attempting to drag other companies into the maelstrom of war and perish together."
"This is the fastest and most thorough method!" A glint of fanaticism flashed in Yorinobu's eyes. "Only by letting them tear each other apart, burning together in the flames of war, can the foundation for a new order be cleared!
Otherwise, merely overthrowing one Arasaka will quickly lead to another 'Arasaka' rising from the ruins!"
"Then, what is this new order?" Osiris' question was direct and cold, cutting to the core like a scalpel. "In your envisioned future world without corporations, how will the power structure be built? How will resources be distributed? How will society function? Who will establish and maintain the new rules?
Or rather, do you just plan to destroy everything and then expect some spontaneous, ideal 'goodness' to naturally emerge?"
A series of questions made the excited expression on Yorinobu's face freeze.
He opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to say something, but the words caught in his throat.
He frowned deeply, falling into a brief silence, an imperceptible bewilderment flashing in his eyes.
"I… I hadn't thought that far ahead." After a long time, he finally replied in a low voice, his tone no longer as certain as before. "Just thinking about how to move the behemoth that is Arasaka, how to find its weaknesses, how to ignite that war capable of sweeping everything away… that alone has exhausted all my energy.
For fifty years, I've constantly thought about how to 'overthrow,' how to 'destroy'… As for what comes after…"
He shook his head, revealing a hint of bitterness, "That needs to be left for those who come later to build. I believe that as long as these shackles are broken, humanity will always find a better way out."
Osiris' projection remained still, a flicker of an extremely subtle fluctuation seemingly passing through the depths of his dark eyes.
He gazed at Yorinobu, and fragments of certain memories were stirred.
Those "idealistic revolutionaries" who had emerged throughout history, they harbored a fervent desire to change the world, yet often lacked sufficient ideological depth and foresight beyond the present, failing to translate that ardent ideal into a clear and feasible blueprint, ultimately appearing powerless in the face of reality's complexity.
Yorinobu's expression and posture at this moment subtly overlapped with certain characteristics of those figures in memory.
His gaze seemed to fall on Yorinobu, and yet also pierced through him, scrutinizing those "idealistic revolutionaries" across time and space.
A brief silence permeated the observation room, and finally, Osiris made his judgment based on these cross-dimensional observations and memory comparisons.
Osiris's projection was silent for a moment, his black eyes seemingly piercing through time and space, gazing at something deeper.
When he spoke again, his voice remained steady, yet carried an almost compassionate insight: "Your answer confirms my observation." His voice held a quality almost like a sigh, "Fifty years of lurking and plotting, yet you have never been able to break through the fundamental dilemma of 'destruction' and 'construction.'
Your spirit of resistance is commendable, but this resistance has always remained on an emotional level, failing to ascend to rational construction."
He paused slightly, allowing the profound meaning of his words to settle: "You keenly perceived the exploitative nature of Arasaka, yet you failed to deeply analyze the historical inevitability behind it—the profound contradiction between human societal organization and the level of productive forces in a world with limited resources.
You yearned to destroy this system, yet you overlooked that any stable new order must be built upon three fundamental pillars: a complete theoretical system, meticulous institutional design, and a social mobilization mechanism capable of forging consensus."
Osiris's gaze seemed to penetrate Yorinobu, looking towards a more distant place: "History is not lacking in idealists like you; they passionately overthrow old orders, but because they lack a clear blueprint for building a new world, they either plunge society into deeper chaos or inadvertently give rise to new forms of oppression.
Your program of action, in essence, still remains at the stage of that angry youth fifty years ago—obsessed with the thrill of 'destruction,' yet lacking the necessary understanding and preparation for the arduous task of 'construction.'"
This analysis progressed in layers, each sentence like a precise surgical knife, dissecting the psychological defenses Yorinobu had meticulously built over fifty years.
He no longer spoke, only staring blankly at the projection before him, his face gradually turning pale.
The questions he had deliberately avoided, the doubts that had flashed through his mind in the dead of night, were now so clearly presented before him, leaving him nowhere to escape.
Osiris's final words echoed in the silent observation room: "Destroying an old world requires courage, but building a new world requires wisdom. And you, it seems, have put all your energy into the former."
A long silence congealed in the air.
Yorinobu lowered his head, looking at his scarred hands, as if searching for answers in those wounds.
When he looked up again, the stubborn light in his eyes had dimmed, replaced by a bone-deep weariness.
"You are right." His voice was hoarse, as if he had expended a lifetime's worth of strength, "For fifty years, I have been like a solitary gravedigger, tirelessly digging Arasaka's tomb day and night.
I was so focused on each shovel of dirt before me that I forgot to consider what should be planted on this land once the grave was dug."
The corners of his mouth pulled into a bitter arc: "Facing the behemoth that is Arasaka alone, I had no choice but to pour all my efforts into how to dismantle it, how to evade its pursuit, how to find cracks within its system.
Every plan took years to lay out, every action could lead to eternal damnation. Just maintaining my belief had already exhausted all my strength."
Yorinobu's gaze became distant, as if traveling back to those lonely days and nights: "When you are constantly under the shadow of a giant beast, when even breathing requires utmost caution, it is indeed difficult to have the spare capacity to envision a complete future.
My vision, my perspective, had long been squeezed down to just 'resistance' itself in this unequal confrontation."
He let out a long sigh, a sigh carrying the weight of half a century: "Now that I think about it, perhaps I had, without realizing it, already become a prisoner on another level—a prisoner confined by my own obsession."
This confession was heavier than any words before it.
It was not merely an admission of his own limitations, but a heartbreaking truth discovered by an idealist reflecting on his life's pursuit: in the process of wrestling with the dragon, he himself had partially lost the ability to soar through the skies.
"Your candor is valuable." Osiris's voice was still calm, but it had lost some of its previous detachment, "You have shown me the most typical predicament of an idealist—too focused on battling the beast, to the point of forgetting the vast army that should have stood behind him."
He leaned slightly forward, his gaze like a torch: "For fifty years, you poured all your efforts into how to dismantle the Arasaka fortress, yet you overlooked a fundamental question: Why have you always been fighting alone?
You saw the oppression, felt the injustice, but failed to coalesce these scattered angers into a common force.
You lack a vision that can resonate with all the oppressed, a banner beyond mere destruction, worthy of everyone's pursuit."
"Precisely because of this," Osiris's voice carried a sharp insight, "you can only ever be a solitary resistor, and not a leader capable of driving change.
You chose the most difficult path—bearing the weight of the entire world alone, yet you forgot that change is never a one-person endeavor."
These words were like a precise surgical knife, peeling back the layers of the shell Yorinobu had built for himself over fifty years, forcing him to confront the truth that had always been hidden.
His solitude was not entirely due to environmental oppression, but more so to the limitations of his own vision.
He was too focused on confronting Arasaka, to the point of forgetting to ignite the flames in the hearts of others.
Yorinobu stood frozen, Osiris's words echoing in his mind.
Unexpectedly, he did not feel offended; instead, there was a sense of relief, as if a heavy burden carried for too long had finally been lifted, allowing him to re-examine his life of obsession from a new perspective.
"Then, 'Magos,'" Yorinobu looked up, his gaze complex as he stared at Osiris's holographic projection, "what do you intend to do with me… a failed idealist?"
"Dispose?" Osiris's projection shook his head slightly, his tone carrying an almost absolute objectivity, "Your past, as a case study, is already sufficient. And your future, perhaps, can offer another kind of value."
He paused briefly, as if retrieving some information, then stated calmly: "Here, maintaining the city's operation is an artificial intelligence named 'the administrator.'
It is responsible for evaluating each person's abilities and placing them in positions where they can maximize their effectiveness, to maintain the stability and data output of the entire social system. You, too, will be incorporated into this system."
As his words fell, a hidden door on the side of the observation room slid open, and a simply designed, precisely moving Servitor silently entered, stopping beside Yorinobu's stretcher, awaiting instructions.
"It is worth mentioning," Osiris's tone seemed to have a very subtle change, carrying a hint of imperceptible guidance, "the core personality template of this 'the administrator' is constructed based on the data of your half-brother, Arasaka Kei."
He did not give Yorinobu much time to digest this startling information, continuing: "Perhaps, in the process of working with 'him,' you will be able to re-examine everything you stubbornly resisted for the past fifty years, from a completely different perspective.
You will undertake specific tasks under the arrangement of 'the administrator,' which will allow you to more directly interact with and understand the specific people you once vowed to save, but who were overlooked in your grand objectives."
"As for those unfinished thoughts about 'overthrowing' and 'destruction,'" Osiris concluded, his gaze seeming to penetrate Yorinobu's heart, "in this 'after' where the old shackles have been broken, you will have ample time, in concrete practice, to ponder the questions you previously had no time to deeply consider—for example, what constitutes true 'construction.'"
With that, Osiris's projection, just as it had appeared, silently dissipated into the air.
Yorinobu leaned alone on the cold alloy chair, Osiris's words echoing in his mind—"Arasaka Kei," "the administrator," "concrete practice," "construction"… These words intertwined, impacting his half-century-hardened mindset.
He no longer had to exhaust himself trying to destroy Arasaka; a great sense of emptiness washed over him, but beneath this emptiness, a hint of… new possibility seemed to faintly emerge?
To understand the order built by the "brother" he had never truly understood, to interact with the living individuals he had proclaimed to save but had no time to attend to?
The Servitor emitted a soft chime, signaling him to follow.
Yorinobu Arasaka, the former rebel of the empire, took a deep breath, allowing the Servitor to push his stretcher towards that unknown "after," managed by his "brother."
This time, perhaps, he would no longer be merely a destroyer.
Osiris' projection dissipated in the observation room, his consciousness core having returned to the laboratory's main body.
Data from his conversation with Yorinobu Arasaka was archived and tagged; that unfulfilled idealism, born from solitary persistence, was clearly recorded.
Within the processing core, another distinct digital personality, previously sealed, was called forth.
Before the call, Osiris injected a data packet containing Yorinobu's fifty-year struggle summary, the current situation, and critical data on Arasaka's downfall into this restless consciousness.
A restless virtual image coalesced before Osiris; Johnny Silverhand manifested in a highly impactful form.
He still maintained that iconic image, deeply etched in countless memories: untamed black hair flowing over his shoulders, dark sunglasses on his face, as if concealing his piercing gaze even in this virtual space.
He wore a leather vest, covered in scratches and unknown stains, over a tight pair of metal-studded leather pants, and worn-out military boots on his feet.
Most striking was his silver left arm cybernetic prosthesis, gleaming with cold metallic luster, its precise mechanical structure exposed, with joints seemingly containing explosive power.
At this moment, his real right hand rested seemingly casually on a virtual electric guitar, his fingertips unconsciously pressing the strings, as if ready to unleash soul-shattering notes at any moment.
The instant his image stabilized, Johnny's eyes, after an initial flicker of chaotic data streams, became complex—he had received and understood the information packet Osiris had just injected, learning of Yorinobu Arasaka's fifty years of forbearance and ultimate end, as well as the drastic changes in the current world.
"Yorinobu? Ha!" Johnny spat, virtual spittle almost splashing Osiris's face, "So, after all that, that kid really blew up his old man's damn Tower? Even if he used someone else's cannon, he finally did something worthwhile!"
He took a deep drag on a virtual cigarette, the tip glowing with a dazzling red light.
"I used to think he was just a softie playing house in the boardroom, but now it seems... to soak in the Arasaka cesspool for fifty years without being assimilated, just to gnaw through it from the inside—" Johnny tugged at the corner of his mouth, revealing a scarred, sinister grin, "He's got guts! Much better than those spineless bastards begging corporations for scraps!"
He violently flung the cigarette butt to the ground, crushing it fiercely with his metallic cybernetic foot: "If you ask me, he should have done it ages ago! Should have shoved a nuke up his old man's ass fifty years ago! But it's not too late now—at least it proves he doesn't have corporate dog blood flowing in his veins!"
Osiris watched him calmly: "You chose entirely different paths. He tried to corrode from within, while you chose to explode from without. But both roads lead to the same destination; your end point is 'destruction'."
"What else?" Johnny leaned forward sharply, his virtual image slightly distorted by emotional fluctuations, "Should I be like those useless corporate dogs, wagging my tail and begging the company? Or like Yorinobu, hoping flowers will automatically bloom on the ruins?
Don't dream! Those bastards only understand one language—the language that blows them to kingdom come!"
He forcefully strummed the guitar string, producing a harsh noise: "At least the nuke made everyone see that those high-and-mighty bastards bleed too, and their impregnable fortresses can crumble! That's the truest message I left for this world!"
"Your actions indeed possess strong symbolic significance," Osiris commented objectively, "You used music and extreme actions to implant the will of resistance into the consciousness of an entire generation.
This is what Yorinobu lacked—the ability to transform personal ideals into collective resonance. Your rock and roll, in essence, is a violent weapon."
"Because it never lies!" Johnny practically roared, as if facing thousands of invisible spectators, "It doesn't sugarcoat, it doesn't compromise, it directly tears open the bloody wounds of this world for everyone to see!
Yorinobu lived with a mask for fifty years; he probably even forgot what true anger looks like.
Resistance isn't a dinner party, it's not some damn bargaining, but a raging inferno that will set this whole fucked-up world ablaze!"
His silver cybernetic arm swung violently through the air, causing the virtual guitar to emit a piercing hum: "If you're afraid to face blood, don't even talk about changing the world!"
"So, what after the war?" Osiris posed the core question, his voice still steady, "Your nuke destroyed the old Arasaka Tower and took tens of thousands of lives. You ignited the flames of resistance, but also created immense ruins.
Have you considered how the people you awakened, driven by endless anger, should survive and rebuild?
Or do you merely content yourself with playing the role of lighting the fuse, then setting everything ablaze, letting ashes cover all?"
Johnny was silent for a moment, a barely perceptible ripple crossing his virtual face, but it was immediately covered by a stronger stubbornness: "...Rebuild? That's for the survivors to worry about!
My mission is to ensure those damned corporate bastards don't survive!
If I have to send all of Night City to hell to take them down, then so be it! A clean hell is better than a dirty heaven!"
"This is the essential similarity and difference between you and Yorinobu," Osiris summarized, "You both recognized the necessity of destruction. Yorinobu's destruction carried a heavy purpose, but he got lost in the purpose, neglecting the means and path, ultimately fighting alone.
Your destruction, on the other hand, is more like an instinct, an artistic catharsis; you are good at igniting, but refuse to consider the consequences of the burning.
Your 'actions' are full of power, but also appear... hollow due to their pure destructiveness."
Within Osiris's core thoughts, an idea gradually formed.
These two souls from fifty years ago, one trapped by the shackles of ideals, the other drowning in the revelry of destruction; one lacking the charisma to rally reality, the other lacking the foresight to build the future.
Their ideologies, like two sides of a coin, collectively formed an incomplete map of the resistance spirit of that era.
"Perhaps," Osiris's synthesized voice carried a hint of inquiry, "allowing your ideologies to collide directly will generate more valuable data. Witnessing each other's paths firsthand, listening to each other's philosophies firsthand, might break the half-century-long thought loops you each maintained."
Johnny Silverhand, hearing this, first paused, then burst into a wilder laugh: "Ha! You want that noble young master hiding in the shadows to face me, a 'terrorist'? Interesting! Fucking interesting! I'd like to see if his convoluted reasoning can withstand my middle finger!"
Osiris said no more.
He didn't need precise equipment parameters, only a virtual space capable of carrying a clash of consciousness.
Data streams quietly reorganized within his core, constructing a pure thought experiment field.
He placed the two souls, from different extremes yet equally dedicated to resistance, into this neutral consciousness space.
One was a lonely noble eroding the behemoth from within, the other a furious celebrity blowing everything up from without.
Osiris observed silently.
He wasn't expecting a simple victory or defeat, but rather wanted to see if, when "patient scheming" met "fiery shouting," when "the shackles of ideals" collided with "the revelry of destruction," sparks of thought could emerge from the intense friction, transcending mere "destruction."
This was not merely a comparative study of two historical samples, but an exploration of a more complex and constructive form of "resistance" that might be needed in the future.
He needed these most raw and intense ideological raw materials to perfect his model.
A week later, in the physical conference room of the Wasteland Town laboratory.
Soft lighting illuminated the simple metal walls, and a sleek alloy long table stood in the center of the room.
There were no superfluous decorations, only necessary communication ports and a few seats.
The conference room door slid open silently, and Yorinobu Arasaka was the first to enter.
He wore a slightly oversized, rough-textured gray work uniform, a stark contrast to the downtrodden noble from a week ago, who lay on a stretcher, consumed by hatred and confusion.
A few days of grassroots life under the New Order had left visible marks on him.
Almost simultaneously, Osiris' holographic projection, that black-haired young man, quietly appeared at the head of the table, without any warning, as if he had always been there.
This week, he had been assigned by the administrator, the AI modeled after his brother's personality, to work at a public service point on the outskirts of the Heywood District.
His main tasks included distributing synthetic nutrient paste, maintaining queue order, and counting daily allocated supplies.
The first two days were difficult for him to adjust to.
Although operating the allocation terminal was not hard for him, standing behind the distribution point and watching the long lines, seeing people with various expressions waiting for food, was a very unfamiliar experience for him.
In the past, as a high-ranking Arasaka executive, every decision he made could affect the fates of countless people.
But now, he had to face individual, concrete people.
There were elderly people who showed gratitude when they received the nutrient paste, young people who complained discontentedly about the allocation system restricting their freedom, and anxious crowds gathered at the door due to delivery delays.
These real-life scenes moved him more than any power struggle he had experienced on the board of directors before.
He clearly saw that the New Order indeed guaranteed basic survival; at least no one would die for a mouthful of food.
But at the same time, he also felt the oppressive feeling brought by such strict management.
Everyone lived according to the system's arrangements; this orderly existence was not quite what he had imagined as 'liberation.'
After a few days of work, he slowly began to understand how this new system operated.
The ordinary people he wanted to help were actually much more complex than he had imagined—they needed stable lives, but also yearned for freedom; they were grateful for being able to survive now, but also dissatisfied with being restricted everywhere.
With the downfall of Arasaka, his goal of the past fifty years suddenly vanished.
He was still searching for a new direction.
These few days of grassroots work allowed him to see the real world, and the complexity of this world far exceeded his previous understanding.
His eyes held a thoughtful expression, more akin to the focused attention of someone re-acquainting himself with the world.
Almost simultaneously, Johnny Silverhand's holographic projection solidified on the other side of the conference room.
He still wore his amber-tinted sunglasses, his black leather jacket casually open, revealing a black tank top and his iconic silver cybernetic arm.
He wasn't holding his guitar as usual, just standing casually, his hands naturally at his sides.
His gaze behind the sunglasses lingered on Yorinobu for a moment, from his simple work uniform to the traces of fatigue still on his face.
Johnny's lips twitched slightly, revealing an elusive expression—neither obvious mockery nor pure approval, but more like he was observing an old acquaintance after a long separation.
Before either of them could speak, a faint blue glow emanated from the center of the conference room.
Data streams calmly converged, revealing the administrator's figure—still in his sharp black suit, impeccably styled hair, and an expression as calm as a deep pool. The AI, modeled after Arasaka Kei, stood quietly, as if already integrated with the space.
The three figures stood at different positions in the conference room, forming a subtle balance.
Johnny was the first to break the silence, his voice calmer than expected: "It seems you've had a... very fulfilling few days." His gaze swept over Yorinobu's work uniform again, "This outfit, it's certainly more pleasing to the eye than those expensive suits."
Yorinobu calmly met Johnny's gaze, then turned his attention to the silently standing Arasaka Kei.
He slowly began: "This week, I personally handed food to those who Arasaka once bled dry. Listening to their complaints about the taste of the rations, dealing with disturbances caused by logistics delays—these experiences reveal the true face of the world more clearly than reviewing reports in a top-floor office."
His voice carried an unprecedented depth.
"Truth?" Johnny's lips curled into a sneer, "The truth is, this world is rotten to its core. No matter how much synthetic food you distribute, it won't change that fact."
His gaze shifted between Yorinobu and Arasaka Kei, "You used to want to blow up the system from the top, and now you want to patch it up from the bottom?"
At this point, Arasaka Kei interjected in his characteristic steady tone: "Grassroots stability is the foundation for efficient system operation.
Data shows that public satisfaction in the area has increased by 3.7 percent, and conflict incidents have decreased by 15 percent. Within the framework of order, the public enjoys clearly defined spaces of freedom."
Johnny turned to him, his tone sharp but rational: "Order? You call this order? It's just another way to domesticate people into docile sheep."
"Any society needs basic rules," Arasaka Kei calmly responded, "Absolute indulgence only leads to survival of the fittest. We offer freedom protected by rules, not the chaos of anarchy.
What did your nukes bring, besides more suffering?"
Yorinobu watched the confrontation between the two, faces he had seen this week flashing in his mind—those numb, expectant, angry, grateful expressions.
He took a deep breath, interrupting the argument: "I understand both of your perspectives."
His gaze fell on both of them in turn, "Johnny, your rebellion awakened many, but violence only breeds new violence. Big Brother, your order guarantees survival, but it also erodes people's souls."
He paused, a thoughtful light in his eyes, "Perhaps the key to the problem is not choosing destruction or maintenance, but finding a third path—one that can break chains, and also teach people how to truly live after gaining freedom."
These words showed his profound transformation over the past week. The experience of grassroots work forced him to confront the complexity of human nature, and dialogue with these two extreme positions pushed his thinking beyond simple, opposition.
Johnny silently observed Yorinobu, his gaze behind the sunglasses becoming focused, seemingly re-evaluating this former noble young master.
"Emotional factors can indeed affect efficiency, but your observations are worth noting," Arasaka Kei calmly responded, "These data will be incorporated into the considerations for system evolution."
From an unseen observation point, Osiris recorded every detail of this clash of ideologies.
Three distinctly different philosophies collided here, and Yorinobu was searching for new possibilities between the two extremes.
This was exactly what he hoped to see: beyond destruction and order, whether a more constructive third path existed.
From an unseen observation point, Osiris calmly recorded everything.
The clash of ideas had begun, and sparks were flying.
Under the pressure of two extreme forces, Yorinobu seemed to be compelled to develop a new, immature, but potentially more promising dimension of thought.
This was precisely the data he was looking for.