Chapter 399
2-in-1-chapter
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Yorinobu Arasaka had initially expected Leo to offer some brilliant strategic insight.
But this? What Leo said was practically identical to what he had been thinking himself.
Leo, however, wasn't bothered.
"In high-level corporate warfare," he said calmly, "the most effective tools are often the simplest ones. People think it's all about hackers, espionage, stock manipulation—but the reality is it's slashing tires, climbing fences to plant surveillance, and smashing skulls with blunt force."
He shrugged. "See? Nothing glamorous about it."
"We're not politicians hiding daggers behind our smiles—we're executives. And what do executives do? We take care of business. If the people standing in your way are physically removed, who's left to oppose you?"
"I don't know the inner workings of Arasaka too well, but I do know this: whether you call them factions or clans, they all fall apart the moment their leader is gone."
"Diehards? Please. No one's out here working a nine-to-five for their dreams. Most people don't even have dreams."
And in fact, it really was that simple.
This wasn't Leo's personal fantasy.
Back during the Fourth Corporate War, Arasaka and Militech had fought in exactly this manner.
At the time, holding a mid-level executive position in either corporation was practically a death sentence—targeted killings were common.
Even senior leadership wasn't safe. There were multiple assassination attempts on both sides.
Yorinobu's own brother, Saburo's eldest son Kei Arasaka, had died during the Fourth Corporate War.
The reason Yorinobu hadn't pursued this kind of strategy wasn't due to ignorance. It was simply because he lacked the means to pull it off.
Arasaka Corporation had a global workforce of around 500,000, but most were administrative personnel. Less than one-third of them were combat personnel.
Among their most elite units was the execution squad "Troy," deployed specifically for rooting out traitors. But their numbers were small.
In theory, "Troy" would have been perfect for assassinations.
The problem was that they only took orders from the head of the Arasaka family. And even then, they didn't follow orders blindly.
The age of samurai dying for honor ended with old Japan. No one lived by the "seven lives all for the emperor" creed anymore.
"Troy" had obeyed Yorinobu's command to hunt down Goro Takemura, yes—but Takemura was just a former high-level bodyguard.
Killing him wasn't controversial.
But if Yorinobu ordered them to assassinate his own sister, Hanako, or his niece, Michiko, "Troy" would refuse outright.
They wouldn't pick sides in a power struggle.
If they guessed right, great. Guess wrong, and they were finished.
The commander of "Troy" wasn't an idiot. Why risk everything? Better to sit back, wait for the bloodshed to end, and follow the new head of the family—whoever survived.
As for whether they'd be purged afterward, the commander didn't believe so. Every leader, no matter who won, would still need an elite kill team.
Eliminating "Troy" would be like cutting off one's own arm. No one would be that stupid.
Yorinobu couldn't command "Troy." And he certainly couldn't rely on the company's regular security forces.
Despite Arasaka's 500,000 employees worldwide, over half were white-collar staff.
Security was just one of Arasaka's three main pillars of business. Banking and manufacturing were the other two—and they contributed far more profit than private security did.
Fewer than 200,000 employees belonged to the security division, and of those, more than half were deployed protecting global elites and wealthy clients.
The number of troops Arasaka could actually mobilize at will was only in the tens of thousands.
In Night City, the real number of security personnel was less than 30,000.
And most of that force had to be kept ready to respond to potential Militech aggression. Yorinobu didn't have spare manpower to deal with his own family.
Besides, using Arasaka's security forces for assassinations? He wasn't that foolish.
If Hanako and Michiko were in Night City, maybe he would consider it.
But they were both in Japan now, surrounded by layers of protection and loyal retainers.
Sending his own agents to assassinate them in Japan would be far too risky and likely to be exposed.
And if the operation was exposed, Yorinobu would be utterly discredited. Not only would he lose standing within Arasaka, Militech would celebrate having one less troublemaker to deal with.
That was why, despite knowing the effectiveness of eliminating enemies physically, he had never taken that step.
Now, however, Leo had offered to do it for him.
"You do realize," Yorinobu said, "your opponents aren't like those Latin American militias you've faced."
He was well aware of Aurora PMC's repeated victories in Bolivia.
But he also knew exactly what kind of enemies they had been fighting.
Government forces, rebels—they were undisciplined and undertrained.
Spraying bullets might look intimidating, but from a professional standpoint, those combatants were nothing to write home about.
Granted, the mercenaries hired by the Shining Group had some skills.
But they had no corporate ethos, no national cause. They were hired guns. As long as things were going well, they could fight. But in tough situations, they broke.
And that was fine. Mercenaries did what they were paid to do.
Running from a hopeless fight wasn't shameful—it was survival.
But corporate security units were different.
Because companies cared for the families of their employees, security personnel were willing to fight to the death for the company.
Some might argue: wait, don't companies treat employees as disposable tools?
Yes—and no.
Yes, because companies wouldn't support every employee's family. If they calculated that the cost wasn't worth it, they wouldn't bother.
But no, because companies still needed to build a positive image. They needed examples—martyrs—to inspire loyalty.
"Look," they'd say, "we do take care of our people. We'll look after your wife and daughter."
And often, they didn't even have to do anything real.
With enough corporate messaging, employees only needed to believe the company would care for their families.
It was like any good lie—repeated enough, some people start to believe it.
Beyond loyalty, Arasaka's security units had strict military discipline, advanced cyberware, and top-tier equipment.
They were in another league compared to Latin America's ragtag militias.
That made Yorinobu cautious.
He had access to intelligence on his sister and niece's locations—but that intel could only be used once.
If the assassination attempt failed, they would realize there was a mole close to them.
And once that happened, the mole would be flushed out, and their security would double or triple overnight.
After that, finding another opportunity would be exponentially harder.
Leo leaned forward slightly. "I know what you're worried about. But let me say this—your worries are unnecessary. My people don't just sit around collecting checks. If you give me accurate intel, I'll deliver you your sister and niece's heads in a box."
"You should watch your tone, Mr. Leo. You're talking about my family."
"And yet, it's you who wants them dead, isn't it, Mr. Yorinobu?" Leo's voice remained level. "Or do you still think you can get what you want without bloodshed? We're all adults here. Let's not entertain unrealistic fantasies."
Yorinobu's face darkened slightly at the bluntness. But he was no amateur.
He let the emotion pass and said nothing.
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