The Arasaka white whale aircraft carrier battle group, like a moving mountain range of steel, lay dormant on the dark sea west of Night City.
Its massive twin-hulled body cut through the waves, casting a shadow so heavy it felt substantial, imbuing the entire sea with a chilling sense of dread.
Inside the bridge, the lights were deliberately dimmed, with only the central holographic tactical sand table emitting a cold, eerie glow.
On the sand table, the Wasteland Town and its surrounding terrain were meticulously outlined, but what stood out most conspicuously was the brilliant blue halo—an energy shield—that completely enveloped the core area.
It was like an impregnable, absolute domain, silently mocking Arasaka's vast military might.
Yorinobu Arasaka stood before the sand table, his posture erect, hands clasped tightly behind his back, knuckles slightly white from the force.
His face, usually marked by aloofness and arrogance, was now covered in a layer of ice, with suppressed fury flickering between his brows, almost threatening to burst forth.
His chest rose and fell slightly faster than usual, but each breath was strictly controlled in amplitude, maintaining a critical state on the verge of eruption.
His gaze, like two ice-tempered blades, was fixed on the image of the shield, as if he could tear it apart and evaporate it with sheer will alone.
On a smaller auxiliary screen nearby, the humiliating footage of the recent air wing's ineffective attack was replayed in slow motion.
Dense clusters of missiles, trailing exhaust plumes, swooped down, only to crash into the invisible mire of the blue aura the moment they made contact, failing to ignite any expected explosive waves.
Instead, they merely created futile energy ripples on the barrier's surface before twisting, shattering, and falling as useless metallic debris.
Throughout the entire process, the shield itself remained despairingly stable, not even offering a symbolic flicker.
"Useless!"
Yorinobu's voice was not deafening, yet it was like a cold whip, abruptly shattering the oppressive silence on the bridge. He suddenly raised his hand and slammed it down with a force that seemed capable of crushing anything, hitting the hard alloy frame of the tactical sand table.
"Clang—!"
A dull thud echoed in the enclosed space, making several young officers standing by instinctively shrink their necks, lowering their heads even further, not daring to meet his gaze, even holding their breath.
"An entire air wing!" Yorinobu's voice suddenly rose, each word squeezed out through gritted teeth, filled with the furious rage of utter humiliation and extreme contempt for his incompetent subordinates. "The ammunition carried was enough to wipe a small city off the map! And the result? They couldn't even light a garbage pile on the outskirts of the target!
Arasaka's billions of yen in annual expenses, did they just pile up this ridiculous combat power? To raise a bunch of idiots who can't even hit a target?!"
His reprimand reverberated through the bridge, perfectly portraying an imperial heir whose pride had been wounded, eager to wash away the disgrace with the enemy's blood.
This display of anger was layered, from the initial cold suppression to the current explosive reprimand, every detail meticulously calculated, perfectly fitting the external expectation of "Yorinobu Arasaka"—impulsive, quick-tempered, and unquestionable.
However, in the deepest part of his anger-filled eyes, a glimmer of absolute calm, like an undercurrent hidden beneath the ice, coldly observed everyone's reactions, evaluating the effect of this performance.
"Lord Yorinobu, please calm your anger," Takayama Shintaro's steady voice interjected.
He maintained his impeccable appearance, hair neatly combed, dark suit perfectly pressed, as if the failed attack had nothing to do with him: "According to preliminary data analysis, the energy shield deployed in the target area is of an extremely high technological level. Its energy field stability and defensive strength both exceed the upper limits of our current conventional strike capabilities.
This is not a fault of the pilots or equipment, but a technological generation gap."
"Generation gap?" Yorinobu spun around abruptly, his gaze like a knife piercing Takayama. He needed to push this act towards a more extreme proposal, to test Takayama's bottom line and lay the groundwork for his subsequent plans. "Uncle Takayama, do you mean that we, Arasaka, a world-class military technology conglomerate, have a technological generation gap in defensive technology compared to an unknown force?
This is an enormous joke! If conventional weapons are ineffective, what are we wasting time here for?!"
He stepped closer, his voice hoarse like a cornered beast, his gaze sweeping over the glaring blue light on the holographic sand table, finally settling on Takayama Shintaro's face, proposing the forbidden option: "Do you expect me, do you expect Arasaka, to be blocked by this light like an idiot, letting the whole world laugh at us?! If conventional means don't work, then use unconventional ones!
Isn't the white whale equipped with tactical nuclear warheads? Activate it! Authorize a nuclear strike!
I want to see whether their turtle shell is harder, or our mini nuclear warhead is harder! Just vaporize that damned place and everything in it from the face of the Earth! One and done!"
"My Lord! Absolutely not!" Takayama Shintaro's voice carried an unprecedented firmness, even stepping forward half a pace, making a gesture that was slightly obstructive: "The cost of using a tactical nuclear warhead will far exceed the benefits gained from destroying a Wasteland Town! Please, you must reconsider!"
Yorinobu Arasaka sharply turned his head, his anger-filled eyes fixed on Takayama, as if his supreme authority had been offended.
His chest heaved violently, and he squeezed out cold words through gritted teeth: "Cost? Uncle Takayama, are you teaching me to weigh the costs? Arasaka's dignity is being trampled! Tell me, what could be a greater cost than that?!"
Takayama Shintaro, seeing Yorinobu's almost paranoid state, burned by a sense of "humiliation," immediately continued in a more earnest, more urgent, but still logically clear tone: "Lord Yorinobu, please think back fifty years ago! That nuclear bomb that exploded in Arasaka Tower, how many years of infamy did it burden us with?
If we actively cause a mushroom cloud to rise again in Night City today, even if it's only on its outskirts, the world won't care about the reasons. They will only remember that Arasaka once again used nuclear weapons! We will be completely ostracized by the international community!"
Takayama Shintaro's voice echoed through the bridge. When dealing with the Arasaka Empire's Crown Prince, only an elder like Takayama Shintaro could, or rather, was qualified to offer dissuasion.
As for the other staff officers on the bridge, they were like quails in front of Yorinobu Arasaka, not daring to show the slightest resistance.
This was not because they feared Yorinobu Arasaka, but simply because he was the heir of the Arasaka Corporation, the empire's Crown Prince!
Yorinobu Arasaka's will was a sacred decree to them, the will of a god, allowing no defiance or dissenting opinions.
However, this immense power, which should have filled Yorinobu Arasaka, or any ordinary person in the world, with intoxicating desire and longing, was for him merely a sorrow and a shackles.
He had once tried to break free from these shackles, to rebel against his father, but achieved no success, and could only languish for fifty years.
Now, having finally obtained the opportunity he had always dreamed of, Yorinobu Arasaka still needed to continue playing the role of the arrogant character he was perceived to be by the outside world, to continue suppressing