Chapter 171: Saburo Arasaka
On the outskirts of Tokyo, the Arasaka family estate stood quietly in the twilight.
Twenty acres of land were encircled by towering walls covered in dense ivy, appearing rustic and natural, but in reality, the walls were embedded with state-of-the-art electronic defense systems.
The interior of the estate followed traditional Japanese aesthetics, yet details revealed traces of modern technology.
A main residence built in the style of the feudal era sat in the center of the estate. With black tiled roofs and wooden walls, and upturned eaves, its sturdy construction resembled a military fortress more than a home.
This residence was originally built by Saburo Arasaka's father, Sasai Arasaka. Having withstood the test of time, it had witnessed the rise and consolidation of the Arasaka Empire.
Within the estate, a modernized gymnasium stood adjacent to a traditional Shinto shrine. Next to a cherry grove where the blossoms were nearly spent lay a landing pad reserved for VTOL aircraft.
Over a hundred staff members busied themselves quietly within the grounds. They wore traditional attire and behaved with propriety, but close observation would reveal their exceptionally sharp gazes and movements precise beyond the norm.
These seemingly ordinary attendants were, in fact, Arasaka's top-tier Cyber-ninjas, forming the fearsome "Elite Hundred."
They were Saburo Arasaka's most trusted personal guards. Their direct leader, Goro Takemura, stood silently within a washitsu deep inside the main residence, guarding his master like a shadow.
Inside the washitsu, the air was heavy.
Outside the window was a meticulously maintained karesansui garden, the patterns in the white sand like frozen waves.
Inside, medical equipment emitted barely audible low-frequency hums. Life support systems rhythmically delivered oxygen, sustaining Saburo Arasaka's fragile vitality.
Saburo Arasaka was sunk deep into a custom wheelchair. This old man of over one hundred and fifty years was wrapped in a soft black kimono, his body so withered it looked as if it might dissipate at any moment.
His face was etched with the gullies of time, his skin resembling old parchment.
Only those eyes, deeply set in their sockets, retained the sharpness of a falcon, revealing unquestionable authority and wisdom precipitated through a century of turbulence.
Any intense emotional fluctuation could endanger his fragile vital signs, so he had long hidden all emotions beneath that wrinkled mask.
Kneeling opposite Saburo was Shintaro Takayama, Arasaka's Director of Security, dressed in a well-tailored black suit.
This old friend and loyal retainer of Saburo Arasaka had his hair meticulously combed back. His face was resolute, his gaze steady.
Even while reporting the earth-shattering news of the Night City branch's destruction, his voice maintained a practiced steadiness, every word carefully considered.
"Saburo-sama," Shintaro Takayama bowed slightly, placing a thin electronic report on the tatami. "The Night City branch... has been completely destroyed. Preliminary assessments indicate the core data facility 'Mikoshi' has suffered physical destruction. The main tower structure is severely damaged. Casualties... are quite heavy."
He paused, carefully observing Saburo's reaction.
The old man's finger twitched ever so slightly on the wheelchair armrest, and nothing more.
Those deep pool-like eyes didn't even ripple.
"The attackers are confirmed to be a street mercenary squad led by Maine," Shintaro Takayama continued his report, his tone grave. "This Maine is a former NUSA soldier.
"But the key point is, the equipment and technology they used... completely exceeded conventional parameters.
"Our security forces appeared... utterly helpless before them.
"The final footage transmitted from the scene shows the opposition equipped with energy weapons, man-portable heavy firepower systems, and... incomprehensible high-speed mobility."
The room fell into a long silence, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of medical equipment.
Saburo Arasaka slowly closed his eyes, seemingly digesting this information, or perhaps gathering the last vestiges of strength in that aging body.
"...Useless." After a long while, a hoarse, weak voice, carrying a bone-chilling coldness, squeezed out from Saburo's throat.
It wasn't a roar, but a cold verdict.
"The North American branch... Abernathy... Jenkins... all useless." He named two former heads who had already been internally purged, his tone devoid of any emotion.
Shintaro Takayama bowed his head deeply. "Hai! This subordinate's supervision was inadequate. I beg for punishment."
Saburo ignored his plea for punishment and instead asked slowly, "Yorinobu... where is he?"
"Yorinobu-sama... his current whereabouts are unknown." Shintaro Takayama chose his words carefully. "After the incident, we attempted all conventional contact channels but failed to reach him directly."
He knew clearly that this rebellious heir was the most complex knot in Saburo's heart.
Yorinobu Arasaka was not only Saburo's only surviving son and the nominal heir to the empire but also the blood left behind by his late third wife.
Saburo's fingertips unconsciously rubbed the fine grain on the wheelchair armrest. In a trance, he seemed to see that gentle figure again—her brows and eyes so similar to Yorinobu's, yet always carrying the softness he lacked.
"Hanako contacted me specifically this morning," Takayama added at the right moment. "She is still pleading for her brother."
The room fell into brief silence, with only the soft, rhythmic sound of the life support system.
Saburo closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, the last ripple of emotion in their depths had settled.
Beyond blood ties, there was another unspeakable consideration: for that top-secret consciousness transfer project, the ideal vessel was precisely this young body flowing with his pure bloodline.
All these intricate factors ultimately translated into an abnormal tolerance for Yorinobu's unruly behavior.
"He..." Saburo's voice carried the rasp of old age but was cold as ice. "Had better prove he has nothing to do with this matter."
Shintaro Takayama lowered his head slightly. Beneath that calm tone, he distinctly felt a surging undercurrent of killing intent.
"Regarding the mastermind," Shintaro Takayama steered the topic at the appropriate time, "Militech is the prime suspect. They have never abandoned their attempt to restart the Unification War.
"While Kang Tao possesses the corresponding motive and capability, their operational style doesn't quite match the characteristics of this attack.
"As for the European banks... they are more likely to fuel the flames from behind the scenes to profit from the chaos."
A barely audible grunt issued from Saburo's throat, and his withered lips curled into an almost imperceptible line.
"Militech... the NUSA... and those European bankers..." His voice was low and hoarse, every word seemingly floating up slowly from the depths of time. "Nothing but a bunch of clowns unworthy of the stage."
This old man, having lived for over a century, had personally witnessed the end of the Second World War, experienced the treacherous undercurrents of the Cold War, and stood tall through the blood and storm of four Corporate Wars.
In his long life, he had seen too many empires rise and fall.
The current turmoil, in his eyes, was indeed nothing more than an insignificant ripple.
If time could turn back a hundred years... no, even fifty years, Saburo Arasaka could have handled these storms and threats with ease.
After all, back then, facing the dual blows of his eldest son's death and his youngest son's rebellion, he had managed to contract Arasaka's expansion and minimize losses during the Fourth Corporate War.
(End of Chapter)