On the outskirts of Tokyo, the Arasaka family estate stood quietly in the twilight.
Twenty acres of land were surrounded by towering walls, covered with dense climbing ivy, appearing ancient and natural, but in reality, the walls embedded the most advanced 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, wooden walls, and upturned eaves, its robustness making it more like a military fortress.
This residence was originally built by Saburo Arasaka's father, Arasaka Sansai, and over the years, it witnessed the rise and consolidation of the Arasaka empire.
Within the estate, a modern gymnasium stood next to a traditional Shinto shrine, and a cherry orchard, its blossoms nearly withered, was adjacent to a landing pad for vertical take-off and landing aircraft.
Over a hundred staff members moved quietly about the grounds, dressed in traditional attire and behaving courteously, but upon closer inspection, their eyes were exceptionally sharp, and their movements unnaturally precise.
These seemingly ordinary attendants were, in fact, Arasaka's top Cyber Ninjas, forming the fearsome "Hundred Ninjas."
They were Saburo Arasaka's most trusted personal guards, and their direct leader, Goro Takemura, now stood quietly in a traditional Japanese room deep within the main residence, guarding his master like a shadow.
Inside the Japanese room, the air was heavy.
Outside the window was a meticulously maintained karesansui (dry landscape) garden, with patterns on the white sand resembling frozen waves.
Inside, medical equipment emitted an almost inaudible low-frequency hum, and a life support system rhythmically delivered oxygen, sustaining Saburo Arasaka's fragile life.
Saburo Arasaka was deeply reclined in a specially designed wheelchair; the centenarian, over 150 years old, was enveloped in a soft black kimono, his body so emaciated it seemed he might dissipate at any moment.
His face was etched with the ravages of time, his skin resembling old parchment.
Only his eyes, deeply set in their sockets, retained the sharpness of a hawk, revealing undeniable authority and wisdom accumulated over a century of turmoil.
Any violent emotional fluctuation could jeopardize his fragile vital signs, so he had long since hidden all emotions behind that wrinkled mask.
Kneeling opposite Saburo was Takayama Shintaro, 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 stern, and his gaze steady.
Even while reporting the shocking news of the Night City branch's destruction, his voice remained deliberately calm, every word carefully considered.
"Saburo-sama," Takayama Shintaro bowed slightly, placing a thin electronic report on the tatami mat, "The Night City branch… has been completely destroyed. Preliminary assessment indicates that the core data facility, 'Mikoshi,' suffered physical damage, the main structure of the tower is severely compromised, and casualties… are quite heavy."
He paused, carefully observing Saburo's reaction.
The old man's finger moved ever so slightly on the armrest of his wheelchair, and that was all.
His deep, abyssal eyes did not even show a ripple.
"The attackers have been confirmed as a street mercenary squad led by Maine," Takayama Shintaro continued, his voice grave. "This Maine is a former NUSA military personnel.
But the key point is that the equipment and technology they used… were completely beyond conventional scope.
Our security forces… were no match for them.
The last visual data transmitted from the scene showed that the opponents were equipped with energy weapons, individual heavy firepower systems, and… incomprehensibly high-speed mobility."
A long silence fell in the room, broken only by the rhythmic ticking of the medical equipment.
Saburo Arasaka slowly closed his eyes, as if digesting the information, or perhaps gathering the last vestiges of strength in his aging body.
"…Trash," after a long while, a hoarse, weak, yet chillingly cold voice squeezed out from Saburo's throat.
This was not a roar, but a cold pronouncement.
"The North America Branch… Abernathy… Jenkins… all trash." He named two former heads who had already been internally purged, his tone devoid of any emotion.
Takayama Shintaro bowed deeply: "Hai! My oversight was insufficient; I humbly request punishment."
Saburo ignored his plea and slowly asked, "Where is Yorinobu?"
"Yorinobu-sama… his whereabouts are currently unknown," Takayama Shintaro carefully chose his words. "After the incident, we attempted all conventional contact channels, but were unable to establish direct contact with him."
He knew clearly that this rebellious heir was always the most complex knot in Saburo's heart.
Yorinobu Arasaka was not only Saburo's sole surviving child and the nominal heir to the empire, but also the bloodline left by his deceased third wife.
Saburo's fingertips unconsciously traced the fine patterns on the wheelchair armrest, and in a trance, he seemed to see that gentle figure again—her features so similar to Yorinobu's, yet always carrying a softness that he lacked.
"Hanako also specifically contacted me this morning," Takayama added at an opportune moment, "She is still interceding for her brother."
A brief silence fell in the room, broken only by the regular hum of the life support system.
Saburo closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, the last trace of fluctuation in his gaze had subsided.
Besides blood ties, there was another unspoken consideration: the top-secret consciousness transfer project, whose most ideal vessel was this young body flowing with his pure bloodline.
All these intricate factors ultimately transformed into an unusual tolerance for Yorinobu's deviant behavior.
"He…" Saburo's voice carried the hoarseness typical of an old man, yet it was as cold as ice, "had better prove himself unrelated to this matter."
Takayama Shintaro bowed slightly; beneath that calm, unruffled tone, he clearly sensed a surging undercurrent of murderous intent.
"Regarding the mastermind," Takayama Shintaro shifted the topic at the right time, "Militech is the most suspected; it has never given up its ambition to restart the Unification War.
While Kang Tao possesses the corresponding motive and strength, its modus operandi does not quite align with the characteristics of this attack.
As for the european Banks… it is more likely to choose to stir up trouble behind the scenes, profiting from the chaos."
A barely audible hum escaped Saburo's throat, and a nearly imperceptible line appeared at the corner of his shriveled lips.
"Militech… NUSA… and those european bankers…" His voice was deep and hoarse, each word seeming to slowly emerge from the depths of time, "They are nothing but a bunch of unsophisticated clowns."
This old man, who had lived for over a century, had personally witnessed the end of World War II, experienced the turbulent undercurrents of the Cold War, and stood firm through the bloody winds and rains of four Corporate Wars.
In his long life, he had seen too many empires rise and fall.
This current turmoil, in his eyes, truly amounted to nothing more than a trivial ripple.
If time could rewind a hundred years… no, even fifty years, Saburo Arasaka would have been able to calmly deal with these disturbances and threats.
After all, back then, he had endured the double blow of losing his eldest son and his youngest son's rebellion, contracting Arasaka's expansion and minimizing Arasaka's losses in the Fourth Corporate War.