The video signal streamed into Vela's cybernetic eye module.
Data received and converted—in a flash, a stylish and fashion-forward young woman appeared on her virtual retinal display.
Mohawk hairstyle, both sides shaved, hair dyed a bold blue. Asian facial features, pretty face, well-maintained skin, no tattoos, impeccably clean. She wore golden lip gloss, oversized gold earrings, and a deep V double-strap golden dress with a faux fur finish and a midriff cutout.
In 2076, someone this "clean" either lived like a monk or was of extremely high status.
This woman was clearly the latter.
Michiko Arasaka.
Saburo's eldest granddaughter.
The only daughter of the late crown prince, Kei Arasaka.
With Yorinobu and Hanako unmarried and childless, she was currently the only third-generation heir of the Arasaka family. Founder and CEO of Danger Gal.
What could be said? This woman—born in 2008, now 68 years old—with a Japanese-American mother, raised entirely in the U.S., had makeup and taste that defied easy description.
Very rebellious, very American, very Militech.
The sort of look that made old man Saburo Arasaka frown at first glance.
As the glow of the call shimmered in her iris, Vela sipped her hot coffee. Signaling to Uncle James Thomas that the caller was Michiko Arasaka, she composed herself and spoke, "It's been a while, Miss Michiko."
She didn't choose to switch to a private whisper mode despite Thomas being present.
"Vela Adelheid, tell me—how should I address our relationship? Should I call you Councilor, Director, or... sister?" Michiko asked.
Her tone was calm, tinged with irony, and beneath it surged an unspoken tide.
Vela simply smiled.
"No need for that yet. Perhaps Saburo-sama was just acting on a whim... It hasn't reached that point."
"Not yet? Nonsense."
Michiko also smiled. "Vela, my 'corporate god' grandfather never does anything without reason." Her tone was unmistakably that of an equal.
On screen, she gazed at Vela with a complex, contemplative look.
Just as Vela was observing her, Michiko—now fully aware of what had transpired in Tokyo and realizing she could no longer stay out of it—carefully examined her so-called "business associate" on the other end of the line.
In the video call, this impeccably dressed woman in high-end bespoke attire still radiated the noble aura of a rose. Though tall, imposing, and solemn, her beauty was beyond question.
A stark contrast to Michiko herself.
Vela's style, aesthetic, and demeanor seemed far more in tune with the old men in Tokyo.
Michiko thought, not without bitterness, about the dusty relics in Tokyo she so disliked.
She had always known that her grandfather, Saburo Arasaka, strongly disapproved of the habits and mannerisms she picked up in America.
No wonder he chose to cultivate Vela...
Truth be told, when Michiko first heard the rumors circulating at the top—that she suddenly had a half-century-younger adopted sister—she found it absurd.
But then she reconsidered.
This was Vela: a high-ranking military commander from Night City's Security Division with a distinguished service record on the front lines against Militech. Brilliant and resourceful, the woman who helped Saburo regain his youth.
Saburo was dead serious.
The nearly 160-year-old grandfather wanted to adopt a daughter on behalf of his son Kei, who had been dead for over fifty years!
Saburo had yet to formally grant Vela the Arasaka surname or succession rights, but the privileges and honors she received in Tokyo were undeniable.
Frequent visits to the Arasaka Family Compound, attending the family's New Year's Eve vigil, offering incense to Kei Arasaka, and even joining Saburo at the New Year's high-level board meeting with Arasaka's global regional executives...
"Perhaps, in the near future, you'll be calling Yorinobu 'uncle' and Hanako 'aunt'—just like I do..."
"But in private, we can each call it how we like."
Vela didn't deny it. She had her own understanding of the surname bestowal and inheritance.
"What's done is done. If some choose to see me as a sycophant clawing my way up, that's not my intent. I don't like it, and I won't force everyone to like me either. At the very least, I will prove that these are the spoils of war I have rightfully earned."
As she spoke, she glanced toward James Thomas, who had risen to his feet.
Beep.
An inserted text message appeared:
[Thomas: Youth is formidable, Vela. Your ideals are clear to me now. You truly are the most outstanding of our generation within our faction... I look forward to the day you stand atop Arasaka Tower. I'll leave you and Lady Michiko to talk.]
[Vela: Thank you, Uncle Thomas. Much appreciated. When time allows, I'll take you to the North Oak fishing grounds or the hunting preserve in Hokkaido to unwind.]
[Thomas: Haha, I'm even more tempted now...]
Seeing that Michiko Arasaka had contacted Vela and the conversation wouldn't end anytime soon, Thomas tactfully excused himself. To maintain discretion, he didn't speak aloud but used messages instead.
Vela rose to see him off. Only once his figure had disappeared beyond the living room did she turn her attention back.
"Spoils of war," Michiko repeated, mulling over Vela's earlier choice of words.
A true militant.
She raised her chin. "You should say that to Yorinobu."
"I have no interest in flattering someone who clearly dislikes me. Just as Yorinobu-kun detested Kei-sama, I hold no affection for him either."
Vela tapped her fingers against the armrest of the sofa.
"I won't deny that he's capable—ambitious, skilled, a competent leader. Even outstanding, perhaps. Did you know, Miss Michiko, that Yorinobu's hatred for Militech and his calls for war once captivated me?"
She subtly glanced at the cyber-ninjas stationed outside the living room.
That feeling of being watched.
Monitored, perhaps.
But Vela didn't mind.
A little surveillance was harmless—just part of close protection. These elite bodyguards from the Arasaka Compound were well-versed in the Four Monkeys principle: see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil, act no evil. They knew their boundaries. If her words were relayed back to Tokyo, so be it. Watch what I can do—
"It's a shame."
"A shame?" Michiko's interest was piqued.
"Everyone grows up. I had my anger and hatred. But when I awoke from the haze of enemy fixation, I realized he wasn't reliable. Glory must be earned by my own hand. No one else's shoulders can lift me up. Besides—"
Vela looked at Michiko on the virtual retinal display, her smile suddenly taking on deeper meaning.
"His shoulders are crooked."
Yorinobu had betrayed.
Michiko understood instantly.
For some reason, being stared at by Vela through the video feed sent a chill down her spine. Those deep eyes—cybernetic though they were—burned bright and fierce.
Suppressing a flicker of unease, Michiko maintained a neutral expression. "Your ambition... is greater than I imagined." Only after speaking did she notice the rasp in her voice.
Vela curled her lips again, as if completely unbothered by Michiko's implied questioning. She rubbed her chin lightly and chuckled, "Is it really? If it were that big, would I have made it this far?"
"Miss Michiko, do you truly want revenge?" she asked.
"Haa..."
A deep breath.
"Sometimes I wonder how best to satisfy those among my father's loyal remnants who still yearn for vengeance." Michiko didn't answer directly. She shifted the perspective. "But now it seems... I will surely gain a sister."
I will support you.
"It would be my honor."
Vela didn't care what Michiko truly thought. As long as Saburo was still alive, Michiko would never oppose her openly. And this reason—avenging Kei Arasaka—was a natural rallying point that would win over a large portion of Michiko's forces.
Especially among the old-school factions that survived from Kei Arasaka's era.
Given that Michiko herself had once "strayed," aligning with a fresh, unblemished successor like Vela—a "great-granddaughter-in-training"—didn't seem too unacceptable.
Setting aside Michiko's past public apology in Washington to the New United States as a 17-year-old high schooler grieving her father's death (which could still be explained as coercion), there was something else.
In the 2040s, Michiko had done something bigger: she married a detective named Mark Sanderson, dropped the Arasaka surname, and legally changed her name to Michiko Sanderson.
Not a hyphenated name—a full change!
Though she later restored her original name and successfully returned to Arasaka, eventually earning a seat on the Board of Directors, this blemish remained. Usually trivial, but in crucial moments, its weight could sway decisions.
"I look forward to meeting you in person, Sister Vela."
"As do I, Sister Michiko."
The call's main topic concluded. Just before the hang-up, Vela and Michiko locked eyes.
"Rather than being a butcher with bloodied hands in Arasaka's upper ranks, I think you'd be more suited to a pure researcher. If you hadn't taken on your father's mantle... Well, it's too late now. We're both trapped by family, without freedom."
A sudden sentiment escaped her after a long pause.
Vela was momentarily stunned, then quickly understood.
It was because of the one thing they had in common.
Both from the Arasaka camp. Both with parents too busy to raise them. Both lost their parents as teenagers. The only difference: Michiko lost hers when Arasaka was expelled from North America. Vela lost hers when Arasaka returned.
"Perhaps so," Vela mused. "Isn't that what growing up means? Life is full of uncertainties. Maybe we'll never know how far we can go, what we'll encounter, or what kind of person we'll become in the end..."
Beep-beep.
The call disconnected.
Letting out a long, heavy breath, Vela took a sip of the now-lukewarm coffee on the table. Leaning back on the sofa, she looked at her reflection in the polished wooden screen and closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, her calm demeanor had returned.
Michiko still had strong doubts about going to war with Militech.
Understandable. In the original timeline, regardless of whether Saburo died, whether Yorinobu succeeded, even if Hanako, Takemura, and Oda all died—Michiko survived. And thrived.
In every aspect. Raised on American education and Wall Street values, Michiko lived with far more freedom than Hanako, who had been caged tightly under Saburo's thumb...
Tch. Speaking of which, wasn't Michiko's first lover supposedly Adam Smasher?
"Ugh."
Noticing her thoughts drifting, Vela rubbed her temples.
Back to work.
Suppressing her curiosity about Michiko's private life, she opened Arasaka's internal ID terminal, intending to better understand her role as Regional Operations Councilor. She began browsing nearly unrestricted department logs from Night City's Arasaka Tower.
2076/1/24 | 11:50
The preset alarm chimed.
Whirr. Shutting off the projection displays of various charts and departmental action logs, Vela stood up.
"Sigh. Another banquet?"
She sighed lightly.
Staring at the message in her retinal display: [Welcome Banquet for Executive Officer Michiko Arasaka - Amethyst Banquet Hall, Konpeki Plaza], she felt less than thrilled.
Last night's one had just ended.
Even banquets could grow tiresome. Vela wasn't a socialite or butterfly. Just because she could handle them with ease didn't mean she enjoyed it.
Unfortunately, she had no choice but to attend.
Consolidating factional ties, building rapport with subordinates, and mingling with the North American division representatives accompanying Michiko—she had to make her presence known and build trust.
Ding. As Vela stepped out of the 108th-floor living suite of Arasaka Tower...
Beep-beep.
"Oh?"
Two new messages had arrived.
One from the Security Division. One from the Special Operations Director's Office.
[Director, per your tagged report item: Adam Smasher has returned to Night City from the Mexico exclusion zone and is en route to Arasaka Tower.]
[Councilor, per intel from sources in the Counter-Intelligence Division's underground mercenary market network: an external force is targeting your project results. Please be on high alert...]
Vela's eyes narrowed.
My project results?
Was it the one at the Russell estate in Westbrook? Or herself? Or the port?
After her return to Night City, Arasaka's maritime transport ships were still on the way, carrying additional troop reinforcements, covert power armor units, and weaponized test products from the [Sonnentreppe Project].
The rest could be exposed, but the covert power armor units must remain hidden for now.
Thinking this, Vela's pupils flickered red.
"This is Vela Adelheid. Tell me the source of the intel."
...
A short while ago, an encrypted comm channel.
[Jackie: Damn, V. No joke, Faraday's actually pulling this crap? Didn't Dogtown blow his Santo Domingo base to bits? And now he has the time to mess with you guys... Maine and his crew got word. Faraday's job is to keep tabs on Arasaka Seaside.]
[V: Arasaka Seaside? Shit. It's definitely a corp job. Dig. Dig deep. Jackie, tell Maine to stay sharp and stay hidden. I'll figure out how to support them.]