Neo had told Adam Smasher once—when the monster was still roaring, still confident—that before he died, he would know the name of the man who killed him.
Now came the moment.
"One slash, one name," Neo said softly.
He stepped forward, Shusui gleaming in the city's burning reflection. The cursed blade howled in his grasp, hungry for metal and blood. Then, in one smooth motion, he brought it down.
Shhhhk.
The strike was clean, absolute. A line of white light cut through the night—and through Adam Smasher's skull. His iron-plated head flew upward, still trailing a faint line of smoke.
For a heartbeat, the world fell silent.
Neo exhaled, drawing Shusui back into its sheath. The blade's surface gleamed, dark red circuitry pulsing as it absorbed the last echo of Smasher's neural core.
Adam Smasher—the most complete cyborg in Night City, a man who'd replaced over ninety percent of his body—was only human in one place. Neo's strike had found it. His true self, the tiny human brain hidden beneath titanium and madness, was now nothing but heat and blood on the steel.
The legendary terminator was terminated.
…
With Smasher's fall, the night itself seemed to exhale. For Neo, for the Edgerunner team fighting their way through this chaos, the impossible mission had just become legend.
He turned, sliding Shusui home. Then he found Goro Takemura blocking his path.
Neo regarded him with quiet patience.
"How do you compare yourself to him?" Neo asked. "Do you believe you could have beaten Adam Smasher?"
Takemura said nothing.
"If you couldn't, stepping forward now means suicide," Neo continued. "And even if you could, the result would be the same—death."
His voice wasn't cruel, only calm. "I respect your bushido, your loyalty. That's why I haven't cut you down yet. But don't mistake mercy for weakness. If you insist on crossing blades again… then your soul will feed this sword."
Neo wasn't bluffing. He genuinely didn't wish to kill Takemura. But if the path couldn't be changed, if the man's loyalty chained him to Arasaka's will—then mercy would become a luxury he couldn't afford.
A true samurai doesn't fear death.
A true samurai only fears dying without drawing his blade.
Shing.
Takemura's katana left its sheath, his stance flawless—an elegant Iaido draw meant to cut a man before the blade was seen. His eyes burned with purpose.
But before he could move, a sharp, artificial ping crackled through his internal receiver.
A forced connection. Arasaka netrunners had hijacked his line.
"Takemura! It's terrible—Saburo-sama is dead!"
The words hit like a grenade.
Takemura froze mid-motion. His sword trembled, almost slipping from his fingers.
"What?" His voice broke. "Lord Saburo… dead?"
"Someone killed him!" the voice shouted. "We don't know who yet. Yorinobu has ordered a total lockdown of Konpeki Plaza! Every floor is being searched—"
"Where is he?!" Takemura roared. "Where is Lord Saburo's body?!"
"Top-floor suite, sir. Please hurry—"
Takemura didn't wait for the rest. His face had gone deathly pale. He turned and sprinted for the suite, the echo of his boots fading down the corridor.
Neo stood still, watching him vanish. Then he looked up toward the highest level of Konpeki Plaza. A faint, humorless smile curved his lips.
"So, Yorinobu," he murmured. "You finally did it. You killed your father."
He shook his head. "How poetic."
...
Inside the suite, Yorinobu Arasaka sat frozen on the couch, staring at the corpse sprawled before him. Saburo's body lay stiff, his head tilted at an unnatural angle, eyes glazed over in disbelief.
Yorinobu's heart was pounding so hard it hurt. His hands wouldn't stop shaking. Even he couldn't quite understand how it had happened.
He'd told himself for years that he hated his father—that he wanted freedom, control, power. But when it actually happened… when his hands had closed around Saburo's throat in a flash of blind fury… he couldn't remember deciding to do it. It had simply happened.
He sat there, replaying every moment.
Saburo's sudden visit from Tokyo, his arrogance, his demands about the Relic and the Unregistered Katana X.
The accusations.
The shouting.
And then—the moment when Saburo had realized the relic was missing.
Saburo had attacked him, striking him, calling him a failure. Yorinobu had fought back.
He hadn't meant to kill him. He truly hadn't. But now the body of Saburo Arasaka, the emperor of death and data, was lying dead on his carpet.
He pressed both hands to his head and trembled.
"What have I done…?"
The doors burst open.
"Lord Saburo!!"
Takemura's voice cracked as he sprinted in. When his eyes fell upon Saburo's corpse, the color drained from his face. He stumbled forward, falling to his knees beside the body.
"Lord Saburo…" he whispered, his voice trembling, "no… no…"
He reached out, desperate to touch the old man's sleeve—
And Yorinobu's voice cut through the silence like a knife.
"Takemura. What are you doing?"
Takemura froze.
"Who gave you permission," Yorinobu said coldly, "to touch my father's body?"
The air went dead still.
In that silence, everything that had built Night City—the corruption, the loyalty, the betrayal—hung between them, heavy as steel.
The emperor was dead. And Night City had just lost its god.