Yorinobu Arasaka drained what was left of his first bottle, the burn doing nothing to dull the unease boiling in his chest. So he uncapped another. Halfway through the second, his hands finally stopped shaking. His voice, however, still trembled when he spoke.
"System," he muttered toward the suite's ambient AI, "my… father. Has he arrived?"
The voice of the artificial intelligence was smooth, emotionless.
"Lord Saburo has just landed on the helipad. He is en route to this suite."
No sooner had the words faded than the air in the room thickened. From the grand staircase above, an aging yet commanding silhouette appeared — stooped slightly with age, yet radiating the weight of centuries.
Saburo Arasaka.
With each deliberate step he took down the stairs, Yorinobu's tension climbed higher. The urge to stand, to at least appear respectful, flared several times, but each time he crushed it, forcing himself to stay seated.
He wanted to seem fearless. He wanted to prove he could defy the old monster.
"We agreed," Yorinobu said without looking up, his tone sharp and cold. "You wouldn't interfere with my affairs again."
Saburo's approach was slow, patient — like a predator savoring the cornered prey. The scent of whiskey clung to the air. All the courage Yorinobu had drunk down in liquid form drained the instant his father came into view.
Saburo's gaze flicked once around the suite, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Money. Women. Corruption. Decay," he said softly, his voice old but piercing. "You've regressed, Yorinobu. Drastically."
He turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing.
"When you were young, what did I teach you? That the blood of Arasaka is not yours alone. You carry our name, our legacy, our face before the world. And now that face lies in the dirt."
He didn't raise his voice. Even standing, he commanded the space as if he were seated on a throne.
Turning to Goro Takemura, who was scanning the suite with disciplined precision, Saburo said, "Goro. Leave us. A father should speak with his son alone."
Takemura hesitated. "Lord Saburo, I haven't finished the full security scan—"
"This is Night City," Saburo interrupted, voice calm but final. "And this is my son. Whatever divides us, he would not dare hide something from me in his own room."
Takemura bowed deeply. "Yes, my lord."
Adam Smasher, who had stood silent the entire time, gave a curt nod and stepped out. His massive frame passed through the doorway with the weight of a tank.
...
Inside the hidden shaft, Neo and Rebecca watched through the vent grille.
Rebecca's voice was barely a whisper. "Neo… Adam Smasher's here. And Saburo too. What do we do—"
"Relax," Neo murmured. "It's fine. Just watch."
She bit her lip, eyes darting nervously. "What about Jackie, David, and Maine? You think they'll make it out?"
"If it comes down to it," she whispered, "promise me you'll leave me behind. Don't—"
Neo's hands rose, gently cupping her flushed face in the dim light.
"Don't ever say that again," he said softly. "No one in the Edgerunners dies alone. Not while I'm breathing."
His eyes — calm, confident, unshakable — made her heart steady again. She nodded weakly.
"Alright. I trust you."
...
In the lounge below, father and son faced one another across the expanse of polished marble and cold air.
Saburo stood. Yorinobu sat, still trying to look unbothered — and failing.
"So," Saburo said quietly. "You still won't stand and greet your father, even after I've come all this way?"
He walked closer, studying his son's posture with thinly veiled contempt.
"Drink to numb your fear. Force yourself to sit, to pretend you're strong. Tell me, Yorinobu. Do you think I wouldn't notice?"
Yorinobu finally met his gaze, jaw tight. "You think you can still control everything. That's your problem, old man."
Saburo's expression didn't change. "And yours," he said, "is thinking you can control anything at all."
Yorinobu rose sharply, eyes blazing. "So what are you here for? To humiliate me again? To teach your son how to kneel?"
Saburo's voice hardened like steel. "You're not even worth the effort. You have neither the talent nor the wisdom to defy me. You call me arrogant, but you—"
"—am stupid?" Yorinobu snapped. "Predictable. I already know what you'll say. You always think you're the sun, and the rest of us just revolve around you."
Saburo didn't flinch, didn't blink.
"You know what you've done, Yorinobu? You've sold our research to the others. Handed Arasaka's future to them. For what? Freedom?"
Yorinobu paced, fury burning in his chest. "Future?" he spat. "You mean your future. Your grotesque dream of godhood. You've turned yourself into something neither human nor machine, and you dare talk about legacy?"
Silence.
Saburo lowered his head slightly, eyes closing. For a long moment, there was only the hum of the city outside the glass.
"I knew," he said finally, voice quiet but full of ice, "that this day would come. That your insolence would push past my patience. I've tolerated your failures because you are my blood. But betrayal…"
He looked up, his gaze like a blade.
"Betrayal is unforgivable."
He paused — then added, almost softly,
"Your mother is fortunate she didn't live to see this. It would have broken her heart."
...
In the vent, Neo's eyes flicked up sharply.
He remembered this scene — the infamous moment burned into Cyberpunk 2077's story. When Saburo invoked Yorinobu's mother's name… the son snapped. In the original timeline, he strangled his father to death right here, right now.
But this time, something was different.
Rebecca gripped Neo's sleeve. "He's losing it…"
Yorinobu's voice cracked, rising into a roar. "Don't you dare speak her name!"
"She was a good woman! The best there ever was!"
"You don't deserve to say it!"
He was shaking, fury and grief colliding until his whole body trembled. But he didn't move to attack. His hands stayed clenched at his sides.
Neo's eyes narrowed. The timeline had shifted. He's resisting it.
Saburo's cold smile returned. "Enough theatrics. Let's end this display of shame," he said calmly, straightening. "And while we're at it…"
His gaze drifted toward the vent in the corner of the ceiling. "Let's deal with the rats hiding in your room."
His voice turned sharp as a blade.
"Adam."
...
The door exploded inward.
A thunderous metallic footstep. Then another.
Adam Smasher stormed through the suite like an oncoming tank. His sensors locked onto the vent instantly. With a roar of pistons, he threw a punch —
BOOM!
The shaft shattered in a burst of sparks and debris.
But his strike didn't land cleanly.
The smoke cleared — and there, standing amid the wreckage, Neo held his blade against the monster's iron fist.
The edge gleamed pale under the artificial light, Wado Ichimonji, humming faintly in the night air.
Neo's eyes were burning cold. His lips curved into a deadly grin.
"Adam Smasher," he said quietly.
"I could kill you ten thousand times… and it still wouldn't be enough."
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