While Jackie, Maine, Falco, and the others were meeting on the rooftop of an old seaside hotel in Little China—grilling meat by the bonfire, overlooking the military harbor, chatting about recent events, settling payments, and discussing future plans—the other side of that very same scene, which served as a picturesque backdrop for spectators, was unfolding—
Arasaka Seaside.
Whoosh~
The surging waves rhythmically slapped against the hulls, while the sticky sea breeze, tinged with the sharp scent of salt and the acrid stench of chemical pollution, brushed against the skin.
Under the guidance of Vice Admiral Katsutoshi Murata, Commander of the Seventh Fleet, Vela—dressed in a mid-length Meldon wool coat—boarded the aircraft carrier that bore her own second name to inspect the naval armament.
"Regrettably, General Murata, there is still no news of that ringleader."
Touching the massive gun housing of the close-in defense system, Vela turned to the naval officer beside her, blue light faintly glimmering in her indigo eyes.
The man standing at her side was of Japanese descent, physically male, about forty-five years old. Medium height, solidly built, sporting a handlebar mustache, broad cheekbones, and narrow-set eyes—his face radiated aggression.
"My forces may have been fortunate enough to eliminate Solomon Reed," Murata said, "but the assassin Jonas Collinson, who murdered General Murata Ozuru during the final stages of the Metal Wars, remains at large."
Vela sighed softly. "A wound the Arasaka America Headquarters shall never forget."
Yes—this Murata standing before her was none other than a member of the same Murata family whose patriarch, Murata Ozuru, was assassinated at the end of the Metal Wars.
When Reed blocked the Murata family's attempt at revenge, he was later killed himself. The captured weapon [Discarded Pawn] was used as a gesture of goodwill, allowing the Murata family to establish a relationship with Vela. Their communication had been cordial ever since—hence why she later recommended one of their own to command the Seventh Fleet.
"We are deeply grateful for your aid and everything you have done for the Murata family. I did not expect you to go to such lengths for us..."
Vice Admiral Katsutoshi Murata snapped his boots together with a crisp clack and bowed deeply to Vela, gratitude written across his face. "As for Jonas Collinson—let the villain live for now. Sooner or later, I shall bathe my uncle's spirit in his blood."
Just make sure you don't get killed yourself when that day comes.
Vela smiled faintly.
"To draw strength from pain... I look forward to the day you avenge him."
With that, she stepped over the hatch threshold.
Surrounded by a group of officers, she ascended the ladder leading to the highest single-angle deck of the Adelheid's dual-hull structure.
The sight that opened before her was magnificent—
The calm inner sea of the new harbor.
The towering island-like superstructure of the carrier.
A dense formation of carrier-based aircraft.
Disciplined escort ships arrayed neatly in formation.
A fleet of true iron and steel might!
"Not bad," Vela said, glancing around from her vantage point.
Even through the eyes of one who once commanded Europe and North Asia's military as a Britannian Imperial Princess in the [CODE GEASS] world, this fleet—though not yet fully staffed—was impressively powerful.
The Seventh Fleet, with the supercarrier Adelheid as its flagship, comprised fifty vessels, over five hundred aircraft, and a full operational strength of fifty thousand personnel: twenty-eight thousand naval officers and sailors, plus twenty-two thousand marines, including those stationed at land-based support facilities.
Of course, that was the theoretical full muster.
In reality, even if war were to break out, bringing everyone together in one place would be nearly impossible—
Unless they were retreating.
The reason was simple: besides Night City, the Free States Alliance had also invited Arasaka's deployment. Apart from the main port in Night City, the Seventh Fleet was responsible for maintaining presence at San Diego in Southern California and Puget Sound in Washington State. Troops were divided among these three locations, covering the entire western coastline from low to high latitude.
Naturally, Arasaka wouldn't shoulder such immense costs alone. Stationing across multiple sites helped legitimize the deployments under "security contracts" and prevented political backlash.
After all, the Free States Alliance—now stable and well-funded after over a year of consolidation—could afford such an arrangement.
If Arasaka were to concentrate the entire Seventh Fleet in Night City, not only would the forces be too dense to operate effectively, but Vice Mayor Weldon Holt would probably lose his mind. No amount of rhetoric could shield him from the political fallout. Gradual expansion—one bite at a time—was the smarter play.
"Good work, everyone."
Standing before the gray-bodied, red-tailed carrier-based aircraft, Vela shook hands one by one with the assembled ground crews and pilots, commending their dedication and effort.
"To cross the Pacific unscathed—through waters infested with rogue AI-controlled submarines and autonomous torpedoes—truly, you are the finest timber in Arasaka's forest."
At first glance, calling someone "fine timber" might sound patronizing—after all, it likens a person to lumber used in construction—but in this cyberpunk world, where corporations and hierarchy define existence, being called "useful" by upper management was the highest compliment. Soldiers and officers were worlds apart; being labeled as "valuable" meant survival.
Saying "family" or "pillar of the company" would sound fake, even insulting. They wouldn't dare accept such flattery.
In contrast, in a world like Resident Evil—where individualism ran rampant—Vela would have to load her speech with emotional value, piling on praise even when both sides knew it was hollow. Otherwise, if an employee felt personally insulted and posted about it online, she'd be hit with a lawsuit in no time.
Not that she wasn't used to such nonsense already—back there, she was practically lawsuit-proof by sheer saturation. Day after day, bureaucratic nonsense piled up. The Militech Legal Division was constantly buried under hearings, disputes, and endless, meaningless debates.
As for those rogue submarines and autonomous torpedoes lurking in the ocean—they were remnants of the Fourth Corporate War's fallout, the aftermath of the Old Net's collapse and the AI rebellion.
In modern times, long-distance ocean travel was suicide for anyone other than major corporations with the tech and resources to survive. For ordinary people, or private vessels, it was a one-way trip to death.
Of course, billionaires with super-yachts or floating artificial islands were another story.
Afterward, Katsutoshi Murata guided Vela through the ship's superstructure, touring the third-deck angled flight area, the electromagnetic and laser cannon arrays, the vertical launch modules, and the enormous flat reactor chamber—until they finally reached the heavily fortified command center.
Even while docked, the command room buzzed with activity. Operators moved briskly between panels, monitoring ship systems and identifying underwater and aerial contacts within the fleet's patrol zone, classifying friend or foe, authorizing passages, and directing aircraft to specific sectors.
Vela's gaze swept across the room, quickly locking onto the new console labeled Energy Shield Control.
"How's the Blaze Luminous system calibration coming along?" she asked.
"The trans-Pacific readiness drills went smoothly, ma'am. The Blaze Luminous system is operating within normal parameters."
Murata's tone was full of pride. "Though the technology remains imperfect and consumes a great deal of energy, the Adelheid is the most powerful first-class supercarrier in the world. Its nuclear reactor array easily supports full deployment of the Blaze Luminous field."
Vela nodded, her thoughts clear.
Not yet mature... still lacking Sakuradite, then.
The Blaze Luminous technology—an experimental defense system from the [CODE GEASS] world—operated by instantaneously releasing high-density gravitational waves from its core, creating a phase-differential field to deflect physical projectiles.
Energy issues aside, she had already grasped the principles after her own rigorous research—while simultaneously pushing that pudding-headed earl beyond his limits.
However, reproducing such technology here, relying solely on Arasaka's nuclear engineering, remained difficult. Miniaturization was out of the question. Forget personal use—even vehicle-mounted versions were impossible. Only large vessels could host such systems.
Only massive ships had the space to install full shield-emission arrays, compensate for transmission loss caused by the absence of room-temperature superconductors, and draw sufficient power to achieve defensive-level synchronization.
Even though Arasaka's nuclear technology had advanced to the point of powering trains, helicopters, and vehicles, their energy transmission systems were still inadequate—making the concept unviable.
Compared to the Knightmare Frames of her former world—light, agile machines powered by Sakuradite superconductors capable of perfect energy transfer and storage—Vela could only acknowledge the material's unmatched properties.
Arasaka lacked that advantage. Still, with advanced nuclear technology, the solution was simple: accept the inefficiency and brute-force it with sheer power.
Murata retrieved a data chip encased in a protective module from the control terminal and handed it to her. "Ma'am, this contains all recorded video and performance data from the system's calibration trials."
Given the limitations of standard neural interfaces, massive data exchanges like these were still best handled via physical chip transfer rather than wireless transmission.
"Mm, well done."
Vela nodded, taking the chip with a faint smile. "I'll make improvements. Perhaps one day, shield technology will be available even to individual soldiers."
Murata replied in jest, "That'll be the day we've kicked Militech's ass so hard they forget their own name."
"Let's hope so."
Vela handed the data chip to her attendant for safekeeping and added quietly, "The more desperate the beast, the fiercer its final struggle. Our standoff with Washington has entered deep waters—neither side will yield. Be wary of desperate, reckless strikes."
"We won't fire the first shot," she said.
Not unless the F.L.E.I.J.A warheads were ready—prepared to annihilate Washington without harm to Arasaka's interests, while simultaneously accounting for intervention from EuroBank and other corporate powers unwilling to see Arasaka dominate the Pan-Pacific and the Americas.
A single low-yield F.L.E.I.J.A prototype warhead wouldn't be enough...
A subtle curve lifted at the corner of Vela's lips.
"Hai!" Murata bowed again, just as he was about to continue his report—ding-dong~—the lunch bell rang.
The carrier was massive; just walking a few circuits was enough to carry them into noon.
"Please, ma'am, I've already ordered lunch to be prepared," Murata said promptly, inviting her with an eager smile.
Vela's reputation as a gourmand had reached him long before their acquaintance—rumor had it she'd even influenced Saburo Arasaka's own diet.
He'd done his homework well.
"The meals aboard the White Whale must be familiar to you, ma'am," he said, "but aboard the ship that bears your name—I believe this will be your first taste."
"Oh?"
Vela arched a brow, intrigued. "A specialty dish? Lead the way."
"Please!"
As she followed him out of the command room, Vela cast one last sweeping glance around the interior, her eyes narrowing slightly.
It was the Geass—her mental field of perception.
Cautious as ever, she scanned everyone she encountered, gauging their intent. Those harboring malice, inner turmoil, or fluctuating emotions stood out immediately. Even if she couldn't fully read their thoughts, marking them was enough.
Tsk. Six or seven with heavy thoughts... Not genuine supporters, then. Spies, most likely. But whose? Yorinobu's? Saburo's? Or someone else's?
Vela silently calculated.
Before long, they reached the officers' dining hall within the carrier's island structure.
It was spacious and refined—carpeted floors, sofas, low tables, and refrigerators—reminiscent of an old Yamato inn.
While waiting for the food, Vela, ever the workaholic, passed the time by reviewing documents. She accepted her personal PDA terminal from her attendant and chatted idly with Murata as she read.
"The Seventh Fleet's mission is to patrol the West Coast," she said. "I've already cleared your presence with the bases at San Diego and Puget Sound, as well as Night City's home port. But the specific deployment structure is up to you. Within a month, I want the operational framework completed."
"Understood."
"Keep your troops disciplined. Show strength, but know when and where to show it. The Free States Alliance is our ally—don't act like marauding thieves and turn public sentiment against us... How long do you plan to rest before resuming operations?"
"Three days. After resupplying, I'll lead the fleet on goodwill visits to the major West Coast cities."
"Good."
Meals were always the best time to discuss business. Over shared dishes and conversation, Vela finalized the Seventh Fleet's upcoming patrol schedule. Carrier operations were never as efficient as land-based airfields; the Adelheid's true strength lay in extended-range cruises—maintaining a 200-mile offshore presence to support or strike as needed. With its capabilities, covering the entire West Coast was trivial.
Good. The carrier was now firmly in place, a permanent fixture on America's doorstep. Washington would no doubt retaliate with its own show of strength. But global sentiment had already shifted—Arasaka's rivals would hesitate to act. Until Arasaka suffered a major defeat, only SovOil and a few foreign actors would have the nerve to interfere.
Vela pondered this as she slid her finger across her PDA's UI, flipping through documents.
After the day's memos from Arasaka Tower's Foreign Affairs Division came a new file from the Security Division—an expansion request.
[SAT (Special Assault Team) – 2077/3 Expansion Request]
—"Death Company."
Applicant: Rahm Hessman.
Vela raised an eyebrow.
So the old man was serious about this—having tasted recovery, he now wanted to recruit every half-mad, near-psychotic cyberpsycho into a single combat unit. A "Death Company," indeed.
Currently, SAT had twelve units, totaling around 1,800 operatives.
SAT-6 alone—due to Vela's own influence—had expanded from its standard 100-man elite heavy corps to over 300 soldiers. Equipped with top-tier weaponry, receiving the latest tech first, they were effectively indistinguishable from a full military unit—save for the absence of full-body power armor and the most extreme neuro-shock weaponry.
Many were heirs of mid- and upper-level corporate families.
So, the good sons of Arasaka want to play soldier now?
She opened the list of approved applicants.
Scanning SAT-6's sub-unit applications, she wasn't surprised to see the names—Shinichi Tanaka, Katsuo, Suneo, David Martinez—all right there.
So eager to climb higher, are we?
After brief consideration, Vela approved Rahm's proposal—authorizing the trial formation of the Death Company—and ordered an additional 800 personnel drawn from the mobile division's top performers for further expansion.
Pausing briefly, she also reassigned Lucyna Kushinada to SAT as a cyberwarfare specialist.
She's already under my wing, her grades are improving, and she's the perfect liaison for the Paris and Warsaw branches. She deserves the SAT badge... perhaps even something higher someday.
Content, Vela set down her PDA.
Right on cue, the food arrived—Japanese-Western fusion cuisine with a distinctly Kansai flair.
As glasses clinked and laughter filled the air, Vela's inspection of the Navy came to an end.
But across the North American continent, following the official establishment of Arasaka's stationed fleet, after two months of uneasy calm and minor skirmishes, a new, unstoppable crisis of war was quietly kindling in some unremarkable corner of the world.