Nightfall. The hall was bright beneath the lamps, filled with murmuring people.
At the center—father and son faced each other in silence.
After a pause—"Yorinobu."
Slap!
A sharp crack echoed. Saburo Arasaka's palm struck his youngest son squarely across the face.
"You've crossed the line."
Clatter. Black half-rim glasses hit the floor.
Yorinobu staggered, nearly falling from the force of the blow.
"Arasaka-sama?"
"Lord Yorinobu!"
Inside the Konpeki Plaza's Tower 1—Tavernier Suite, attendants, executives, and guards who had rushed in at the commotion froze in shock.
The air seemed to solidify. Witnessing this explosive scene from the "imperial house of Arasaka," none dared to move, whisper, or even glance too long. Neither stepping forward nor retreating seemed safe.
Even Goro Takemura, who had disembarked and immediately assumed command of Konpeki Plaza's security perimeter—ready to coordinate a full SAT sweep—was left dumbstruck.
As Saburo's current personal bodyguard, he was perhaps one of the few who truly understood the man's temperament.
Proud, unyielding, and placing family honor above all else—Saburo Arasaka had devoted most of his life to molding Arasaka into a new shogunate, a new imperial dynasty. For such a man to expose family disgrace—to strike his own son before the eyes of subordinates—was unthinkable.
Unless... this was a declaration.
A declaration of abandonment.
Takemura felt a chill of comprehension. Lord Yorinobu... what have you done?
Brushing nonexistent dust from his dark haori, Saburo clasped his hands behind his back and said quietly, "Leave us. I wish to speak with him alone."
"Arasaka-sama, I haven't completed the environmental assessment."
The scanner light faded from Takemura's cybernetic iris as he turned.
"This is my son. Enough shame has already been paraded before the public today."
"Yes, sir." Takemura bowed deeply. "Understood. If you require me to retrieve what must be reclaimed, give the order at any time."
"You may all leave." Saburo's hand motioned dismissively—a silent command to withdraw.
The crowd, relieved, filed out as if pardoned.
Once more, the suite fell into silence.
"Ha ha ha... How does it feel? Shattering the divine image you've spent decades building—of Arasaka's godlike authority—in front of your own subordinates?"
Yorinobu laughed.
He didn't cover his cheek. He simply sat down, posture defiant, face swollen and red.
"Foolish." Saburo's expression remained stony.
"You, who leech off others' achievements, can never represent Arasaka. Tell me—why commit such stupidity? Did you think I wouldn't notice what you stole? If Vela learns of this—"
"Wrong. Dead wrong." Yorinobu cut him off coldly with a sneer. "To be precise—I don't care what you think. Vela? I couldn't care less what she thinks either."
He leaned back against the sofa, pointing at Saburo with a mocking smirk. "You know what your problem is? You think the whole damn world should revolve around you. Arrogant. Delusional—"
He didn't finish.
Slap!
Another blow landed.
Lowering his right hand—his synthetic cyberlimb—Saburo glared down at him coldly.
"Heaven may forgive the sins of fate. But the sins of one's own making... are beyond redemption."
"Hah! Running out of quotes already?" Yorinobu snarled, springing to his feet and kicking the coffee table with a loud thud. Wine, ice, phones, and vases crashed to the floor in a shattering mess.
Saburo sidestepped smoothly, avoiding the splash of liquor and shards of glass that scattered across his robes.
His eyes hardened. The wrinkles in his once-composed brow deepened, disappointment carving itself clearly into his face.
"[Sonnentreppe], [Quinque Steel], [Sakuradite]... Do you even understand what you've done?"
"You handed our achievements—the very lifeblood of our work—over to those Anglo-Saxon and their kind. Our enemies! And now, you seek to destroy our future—using Relic, using Soulkiller—against Vela, your own niece! Killing the hen for its eggs, trading the foundation for dust!"
Yorinobu smirked, deliberately twisting the truth. "So what if I did? You going to claim Vela is your divine providence? The chosen heir of your destiny?"
"Oh, I see now—you do care about your granddaughter. Or maybe it's her creativity you're obsessed with. That singular spark of genius you want to harvest—for your own immortal dream."
"You rushed here yourself, afraid I'd use Soulkiller and Relic to manipulate her mind, didn't you? Was it Anders Hellman, that weakling, who cracked under pressure and spilled everything to you?"
The soul imprint stored within the Relic was, after all, just a copy. Even though it carried the imprinted person's memories and knowledge, it lacked the one thing that mattered most—their creative spirit. That was why Saburo never used it unless absolutely necessary; it was his final trump card.
To Saburo, for someone like Vela—who evolved and improved by the day—spiritual intuition was everything.
"Heh... Let me tell you something." Yorinobu sneered. "You think you control everything, but you're just playing with fire. You treat Vela as your tool, and she treats you as her stepping stone. Without me, you can't keep her in check."
As Yorinobu pointed and cursed at him, Saburo lowered his head slightly, seemingly unbothered, and sighed.
"You only see your mistakes when the gun's at your head. You only panic when your inheritance slips away. Late regret earns no redemption."
He stepped slowly toward the coffee table, his tone and expression turning colder by the second.
"I thought you'd matured. But your shamelessness has surpassed even my limits. Yorinobu, I've long been lenient with you—but betrayal..." His eyes hardened. "Betrayal is unforgivable."
"You're lucky," Saburo said flatly, halting in front of him. "We're at war. Unity and stability take precedence over everything. I won't let your stupidity affect Vela or compromise Arasaka's great war. Otherwise—even if it destroys our family's reputation—I will execute you publicly."
"Then do it!" Yorinobu snapped, stepping forward with reckless defiance. "Use your so-called divine 'Nirvana'—your precious cyber-samurai arts—and kill me!"
SLAP!
The blow landed with full force. Yorinobu stumbled sideways and crashed to the floor.
Disgust flashed in Saburo's eyes.
"That strike was for Michiko—your mother. She's fortunate she isn't alive to witness what you've become: weak, spineless, useless. She'd be heartbroken."
"Bullshit!" Bang! Yorinobu kicked over the sofa, roaring, "Old bastard! You have no right to punish me in my mother's name!"
"How dare you mention her!"
Michiko, Saburo's third wife—perhaps the last trace of gentleness in his heart. The mention of her stirred something deep within him, his voice trembling with barely restrained fury born of disappointment.
"I was raised by my mother's hand! Why can't I speak her name?!" Yorinobu shouted back. "Those five years—from '95 to '99—she protected me, stood by me! And you? Where the hell were you?! Now you want to kill me? Fine! But you'll never have the right to punish me in her place!"
"Silence!"
"Good people die young, while evil men like you live forever! If Mother were still alive, would she have become like you—a monster who sees his own child as a pawn to be controlled, even slaughtered?!"
"I said SHUT UP!"
Saburo, unable to restrain himself, snatched up the [Kongou] handgun from the table and fired—BANG! The bullet grazed Yorinobu's temple and buried itself in the wall.
Instantly, alarms blared through the suite. [AI: Alert—gunfire detected...]
BANG! The doors burst open. Goro Takemura, David Martinez, and a squad of Arasaka security stormed in.
"Arasaka-sama!"
"Lord Yorinobu!"
...
Seeing Saburo holding the gun, everyone froze mid-step.
"Get out," Saburo growled without turning around.
The same speed with which they'd entered, they now retreated. SLAM! The doors shut again.
Clack!
Exhaling deeply, Saburo calmed himself. He tossed the [Kongou] aside, letting it clang against a wall pillar. His gaze cut back to Yorinobu.
"Enough deflection. My patience wears thin. Where are the Relic 2.0 prototype chip and the T-G-118-09 fusion virus sample?"
"You guess." Yorinobu only smiled.
"What are you planning?"
"You guess."
Saburo inhaled sharply, then closed his eyes before reopening them, voice low and cold. "Do not force me to kill my own son." He extended a hand toward him, tone like steel. "Give it to me. This is your last chance."
Yorinobu's grin widened.
"What's so funny?" Saburo asked.
"This isn't about family grudges," Yorinobu said calmly.
"What?"
Before Saburo could react—RUMBLE! A deep roar shook the suite.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, explosions lit up the Arasaka Coastal Complex.
Mutiny.
The fire and detonations in the dark night were unmistakable, reflecting off Saburo's rigid face. In that instant, he understood everything.
Yorinobu—the weak, cowardly son who'd always fled from confrontation—had raised the blade of rebellion against him.
"You..." Saburo's face darkened, frozen in disbelief. "What have you done?"
Clink. Something small hit the floor—a pen-sized injector.
Yorinobu dropped to his knees with a dull thud, his face twisting with agony.
While Saburo's attention was drawn to the explosions, Yorinobu had injected himself with the T-G-118-09 fusion virus.
"Ha... ha ha ha..." He laughed between gasps, blood spilling from his lips. "You thought I was waiting for something—to let you beat me half to death? I was waiting for the signal. The mutiny's begun. And you... what were you waiting for?!"
His laughter turned into a manic scream. "Your dream of immortality—I just injected it into myself. It's over! You've lost it! Ha ha ha ha!"
His body convulsed violently, muscles twitching as blood splattered the floor, his laughter echoing through the burning night outside.