Chapter 181: The Rebellious Son of Arasaka
The "White Whale," this steel leviathan floating on the Pacific, was plowing through the deep blue sea with unstoppable majesty, advancing steadily toward the West Coast of North America and Night City.
On its deck, fighter jets were neatly arranged like raptors at rest; inside its holds, it carried Arasaka's most elite powered armor troops and most advanced killing machines.
To the outside world, this was a destructive force enough to make small nations tremble and adversaries brace themselves. It was the iron fist of the Arasaka Empire manifesting its supreme authority, sailing toward the battlefield of vengeance with the might of thunder.
However, the person standing at the nominal highest command position of this powerful fleet held a heart diametrically opposed to the will this ship represented.
Yorinobu Arasaka stood alone inside the observation room beside the flagship's bridge. Outside the thick bulletproof glass lay the boundless ocean, reflecting his deep and complex gaze.
He wore a well-tailored Arasaka senior commander's uniform, the insignia representing family and authority on his epaulets cold and glaring.
This attire bound him tightly to this ship and the surname "Arasaka," yet this was precisely the shackle he had wanted to break free from every moment for nearly half a century.
The observation room's automatic door slid open silently, steady footsteps interrupting his gaze.
Arasaka's Director of Security, and the true mastermind behind this operation—Shintaro Takayama—walked to a position slightly behind him.
This old retainer's hair was combed meticulously. His face was resolute, his eyes carrying scrutiny and a trace of imperceptible worry.
"Yorinobu-sama," Takayama's voice was low and steady, carrying the unique tone of mixed respect and admonition from an elder to a junior, a vassal to his lord. "We are about to enter the designated combat waters. Ahead lies Night City."
Yorinobu didn't turn back, only emitting a barely audible "Hmm" from his nose in response, his gaze still fixed on the faintly emerging coastline in the distance.
Takayama seemed accustomed to this attitude and continued, "Saburo-sama handing you the command of this 'Special Punitive Operation' is of great significance. I know that in the past... you have had reservations about certain principles of the family."
He chose his words carefully, clearly referring to Yorinobu forming the Steel Dragons to oppose the family in his youth, and the rebellion and alienation he displayed intermittently over the following decades.
"But this time is different from before." Takayama's tone grew heavier. "The Night City branch destroyed, Mikoshi fallen—this is an open provocation to Arasaka's dignity. It is war. As Arasaka's heir, the Crown Prince of the Empire, you stand at the cusp of the storm.
"This is the best time for you to demonstrate your capability to those inside and outside the Group, to establish your prestige. It is also... the only chance."
He paused slightly, observing Yorinobu's reaction. Seeing the other still silent, he stepped closer and spoke earnestly. "Yorinobu-sama, over the past fifty years, some of your actions... in the eyes of the elders, perhaps appeared slightly willful, insufficiently mature.
"What they need to see is a leader capable of inheriting Saburo-sama's will and supporting Arasaka's future, not a playboy still immersed in adolescent rebellion.
"This operation is your stage to prove yourself. Please be cautious in word and deed, prioritize the bigger picture, and do not... 'act out' again."
Takayama spoke the last two words very lightly, yet they carried heavy weight.
This was the most direct admonition he, an old retainer who watched Yorinobu grow up and still retained a shred of recognition for his status as the legitimate heir deep down, could make.
He sincerely hoped Yorinobu could use this opportunity to turn his image around and truly shoulder the responsibilities of an heir, even though he might never understand the fire burning everything to ash deep within Yorinobu's heart.
Yorinobu finally turned slowly. There was no anger at being offended on his face, nor impatience at being lectured, only a calmness bordering on emptiness.
"Uncle Takayama," he used a private address, his voice devoid of emotion, "I know what to do. For Arasaka's 'future,' I will do what I must."
His words were ambiguous. To Takayama's ears, they might sound like a promise, but in Yorinobu's own heart, they held an entirely different meaning.
For the "future" he wanted—one without megacorporations like Arasaka—he would naturally "do well" what he must: guide this battleship of vengeance, along with everything it represented, to an end of destruction.
Shintaro Takayama scrutinized Yorinobu's expression, seeming to want to find some sincerity or determination. Finally, he nodded slightly. "It is good that you understand. I will assist you fully from the side to ensure the operation's success."
He bowed again, then quietly exited the observation room.
The door closed again, and Yorinobu cast his gaze back into the distance.
The outline of the coastline seemed a bit clearer. It was not only the battlefield where war was about to ignite, but also the prelude to burying the entire corporate era, for which he had laid plans for fifty years.
Shintaro Takayama's advice was like an irrelevant breeze blowing over his heart, which had long hardened into stone.
The plan in his heart was far grander, and far crueler, than establishing personal prestige or inheriting the Arasaka Empire.
Yorinobu's thoughts inevitably drifted back to the distant past, to the youthful era that completely changed his life's trajectory.
Kenjiro Hanonaka, that teacher at the Iron Lotus Dojo, was his spiritual guide and the first crack in his cognitive wall.
In that dojo filled with the scent of wood and sweat, Teacher Hanonaka taught not just swordsmanship to defeat enemies, but the "Sword of the Heart" to sever confusion and face one's true self.
He never discussed hollow politics or philosophy. Instead, through the tempering of every move and stance, he guided Yorinobu to ponder the essence of power, the boundaries of responsibility, and why a swordsman fights.
Initially, Yorinobu's worldview was the fortress meticulously built for him by Arasaka: corporations bring order and prosperity, technology leads human progress, and Arasaka standing at the apex is the inevitability of ability and fate.
Every privilege he enjoyed was proof of this system's rationality.
However, Teacher Hanonaka inadvertently let him glimpse the real world outside the fortress.
Once after class, Teacher Hanonaka calmly spoke of an old man outside the dojo who lost everything because he couldn't repay corporate medical loans. Another time, pointing to a brief report on an ecological disaster in the news, he commented that it used to be an area where a major enterprise dumped industrial waste.
Teacher Hanonaka made no fierce accusations, only stated facts with a faint sigh.
This fragmented information, like dripping water wearing through stone, eroded Yorinobu's inherent perceptions bit by bit.
He began to observe consciously, using the "Sword of the Heart" bestowed by Teacher Hanonaka to dissect everything around him.
He noticed that at family banquets, when executives discussed mergers and acquisitions, the "necessary layoffs" they glossed over meant thousands of families behind them. He read in his father's study that beneath reports on "human resource optimization" and "market cleaning" lay bloody competition and annexation.
For the first time, he realized that beneath the glamorous "progress" in Arasaka's promotional videos lay countless "consumables" squeezed dry and discarded. The "order" he took for granted was precise control built upon systemic exploitation and silent suffering.
This subversion of cognition was painful and violent.
The worldview he had built over eighteen years collapsed, replaced by chaos and guilt.
He began to loathe the delicacies on the table, for they might be tainted with blood and sweat. He was repulsed by the respectful attendants around him, for that respect stemmed from fear and power imbalance.
Arasaka's glory no longer shone in his eyes; instead, it reflected the blood, tears, and bleached bones of countless victims.
Teacher Hanonaka made him understand that he was not just the heir of the privileged class, but a part of this system that devoured everything.
However, the light of enlightenment is always brief.
Teacher Hanonaka's "suicide," the carefully arranged yet full-of-holes disguise at the scene, was like a bucket of ice water. It not only extinguished the last fantasy of family warmth remaining in his heart but also made him recognize the cruel nature of this system with unparalleled clarity.
Any spark attempting to awaken others or challenge the established order would be mercilessly snuffed out. It didn't even require a clear directive from the family; the system's own defense mechanism would activate.
It didn't care who it was, only whether the threat was removed.
That youth who once lived under the family's shelter, carrying a bit of naivety and arrogance, died completely at that moment.
Replacing him was a young man who saw his own situation and the dark undertone of the entire world clearly. There was no more confusion in his heart, only cold despair and a silent flame quietly igniting within that despair, destined to burn everything to ashes.
(End of Chapter)