"Hahaha."
"How swift, how brilliant—Vela, that was a fine move indeed."
"Ancient tactics with modern execution—tunnel demolition, Operation Codename: Pangolin... fitting, truly fitting. An unprecedented detonation spanning two cities."
"Three reinforced heavy mechanized infantry divisions—nearly eighty thousand troops, over five thousand armored vehicles, tens of thousands of support units, and over a hundred thousand autonomous drones—completely wiped out overnight. I imagine the White House must be in utter chaos right now."
...
When Yorinobu stepped into the Arasaka Family Compound, the sound of hearty laughter—Saburo's and Shintaro Takayama's—echoed from the inner hall.
A gentle breeze stirred the falling petals across the courtyard.
Beneath the bracketed eaves, an old cast-iron wind chime rang out clearly and melodiously, its lingering notes carrying on the air—as though singing of Arasaka's rejuvenation, a springtime prosperity blooming after long withering years.
Yorinobu's gaze swept the courtyard, expression calm and unreadable. His eyes landed on the cyber-ninja with the traditional topknot standing at the shoji door.
"Takemura, is my father available?" he asked evenly.
"Lord Yorinobu," replied Goro Takemura, his accent distinct, face as serious as ever. Bowing, he said, "Please wait a moment." The artificial irises of his cyber-eyes flickered as he transmitted a message. Moments later, he stepped aside and slid open the door. "Please, go in."
Inside the hall, Saburo Arasaka sat calmly on a cushion, wearing formal kimono and hakama—appearing younger and more vigorous than in years past, his once-gray hair restored to deep black.
Shintaro Takayama sat cross-legged across a low table, arms folded, a half-finished game of Go laid out between them.
Hanako Arasaka sat gracefully beside Saburo, serene and dignified.
A central holo-projection device had already been active for some time...
Ignoring his faint sense of alienation within the room, Yorinobu instinctively looked toward the person who had always mattered most to him: his gentle, refined younger sister, clad in a white sleeveless dress embroidered with gold.
Over the past two years, as Saburo regained his health, the once-critical pheasant faction—created to balance the hawks and doves—had lost its necessity. Hanako had since relinquished much of her power. With no need to worry endlessly over political strife, the family had found harmony again—fatherly kindness, filial respect, and sibling grace. Her life of quiet luxury had given her an air of noble serenity.
But this family Hanako treasured so dearly...
The runaway son—that was me—was about to betray her once more.
Yorinobu smiled bitterly to himself, extinguishing the last warmth in his heart.
"Father. Elder Takayama. Hanako." He greeted them in turn, then turned toward the golden-haired, blue-eyed woman projected in light before him—"Vela."
Before the holo-display, swirling photons formed the image of Vela, standing amidst the ruins of Omaha. As she turned, her radiant smile met his gaze. "Long time no see, Uncle~."
That single "Uncle" made Yorinobu inwardly wince.
She hasn't realized my plan yet. Then this cordial greeting must be her way of thanking me for the reinforcements I sent.
With that thought, Yorinobu's expression remained composed as he offered formal congratulations on Vela's victory in the central front.
On-screen, Vela smiled warmly in response. "This success is thanks to your strong support, Uncle. Without your reinforcements, the southern line would've been unstable—there's no way we could've contained Myers' three mechanized divisions so easily in Omaha."
"This perfectly timed symphony of destruction," she continued, "was the fruit of our shared effort."
"All right, that's enough flattery from both of you." Saburo finally interrupted the polite back-and-forth between Vela and Yorinobu. "We are one family—differing, but never divided."
Then, turning solemnly toward them both, he said, "Yorinobu-kun, Vela-san, I expect you to continue working together as you have now. Let Arasaka rise as the greatest power in the world." His tone carried the full weight of an old patriarch.
Vela, of course, nodded without hesitation. "Vela will remember."
I'll remember, she thought. But if Yorinobu undermines you, Father, that's none of my concern.
Yorinobu also nodded gravely.
In his eyes—three parts release, three parts resignation, and four parts defiance.
How Vela managed to read all that through a holographic projection, no one could say—but somehow, she did. Though his expression showed not a hint of deceit, she couldn't help but wish she could leap across the sea, unleash a Geass, and peer directly into the muddled depths of this so-called "dutiful son's" heart.
"Vela-san, regarding the raw material used to produce the Sakuradite Cracking Bomb—Sakuradite, such a fine name, radiant as its glow—how difficult is it to manufacture? What's the current production capacity and remaining stock?" Saburo suddenly asked.
Here it comes, Vela thought.
Fortunately, she had long prepared her cover story and countermeasures. Without hesitation, she replied, "Sakuradite is a newly discovered element with high-temperature superconductive properties, resembling liquid fuel in appearance. It was a byproduct of my research into next-generation nano-powered armor energy systems—an accidental discovery. Current production capacity is low, costs are extremely high, and the process still requires refinement over time."
"As for the sub-nuclear bombs, they're based on Sakuradite's volatile properties once liquefied. I combined it with existing high-energy explosives to form a new hybrid weapon. The missile launched by SAT-6 outside Night City in mid-January was one of the early test results. I sent the data collected from field tests in Panama's counterterror operations."
"So far, the results have exceeded expectations. However, the stockpile is nearly depleted. To reproduce an explosion on the scale of Omaha will take time. Since this is still an experimental product, there's room for technical iteration and improvement. Producing too many of the old models now would be wasteful."
"And besides," she added with a faint smirk, "I doubt Myers will be foolish enough not to learn from this."
It was a lie—half true, half false.
Sakuradite was a mineral unique to the Code Geass world. In this Cyberpunk world, as long as she alone controlled Arasaka's power and guided the coming technological revolution, it would remain impossible to mass-produce until she completed reverse-engineering it into a synthetic analog. Otherwise, she'd spend her days mass-producing Sakuradite through her Divine Gift and retire early.
Listening to her explanation, Saburo nodded occasionally, finding nothing unusual.
An accidental laboratory discovery with low early yields, high costs, and complex production—perfectly normal. But once it existed, and with enough funding and research, progress was inevitable. Especially with someone as gifted as Vela leading the charge—Arasaka's future was boundless.
"Good. As long as you're aware," Saburo said.
His good mood was unmistakable. Even the mention of Myers drew a hearty laugh. "Still, don't take unnecessary risks. Protect yourself, always." Then his tone sharpened. "Your current position is too exposed."
Vela chuckled lightly, then composed herself to accept the rebuke.
"Regarding Sakuradite research," Saburo continued, "summarize your development logs when you have time and send a copy to Tokyo for archival."
"Understood. Once I've finished the commendations for the Omaha troops, I'll make the arrangements."
"A wise move. Never keep all your eggs in one basket—reserve some samples. Don't convert all of it into bombs. I'll have someone transport a portion back to Tokyo."
"Understood. I'll notify the Night City division immediately."
...
Seated quietly, Yorinobu sipped the tea Hanako had brewed, its bitterness and fragrance lingering as he listened to the military discussion between Saburo and Vela.
Sip by sip, the taste sank deep.
"Nii-san," Hanako said softly with a graceful smile, pouring him another cup. "Perhaps this is for the best. In the future, as the senior among the family elders, your wisdom will be invaluable."
Subtle words—but clear enough. In the ongoing struggle for Arasaka's leadership, chairman, and CEO position, the balance had already tipped.
Yorinobu was silent for several seconds.
Then he said quietly, "Perhaps. I've already given up..."
Given up everything.
Within five minutes, the strategic discussion between Vela and Saburo regarding the North American front came to an end.
Saburo concluded, "Do as you see fit, Vela-san."
Then he turned to Yorinobu and Hanako. "EuroBank and Orbital Air have grown increasingly demanding and restrictive since the Omaha battle report. I'll be focusing my efforts in Paris for the time being."
"Remember—Militech and the New United States are our enemies, but they are not the only ones watching us. Never let your guard down. Yorinobu-kun, Hanako-san, I'll rely on you to manage affairs in Tokyo Headquarters during this period."
He bowed deeply. "I entrust it to you."
After the call ended, and as Saburo continued his discussion with Yorinobu—touching even on topics of corporate marriage alliances and future heirs—Vela quietly disconnected.
...
Omaha, at the edge of the cratered ruins.
Vela stepped past the cordon formed by her Cyber Tyrants and cyber-ninjas. Her high-heeled boots crunched over pulverized concrete, ground to dust by the chain of near-subnuclear blasts. She scooped a handful of debris, let it slip through her fingers, and looked over the horizon of scorched, cratered earth.
"Eighty thousand... plus the uncounted National Guardsmen and mercenaries. That's going to sting, Myers."
These weren't just soldiers. Many were trained NUSA veterans—career officers, skilled infantry, middle-ranked commanders. Gone, all of them. Not even remnants left to rebuild from.
Casualties weren't the worst part. Even losing an army could be endured—so long as a framework and experienced officers remained. But this? This was annihilation. How do you rebuild from nothing?
"Myers, your central front is wide open now."
"Will you pull forces from the north or the south? How much of your reserve can you even spare? Hold steady, and I'll hit you from the middle. Move your troops, and I'll strike the north."
A grin spread across her face. "That chain of detonations was a delight... exhilarating."
Turning sharply on her heel, her tone grew crisp. "Order Rahm to maintain the breakthrough. I want the momentum to snowball. Keep pushing."
"After a few more inspections of the central front... we move north."
—
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