The silence in the Konpeki suite was suffocating.
Yorinobu Arasaka's voice—cold, sharp, and dangerously calm—cut through it like a blade.
"Enough, Takemura."
Takemura froze mid-motion, his hand inches away from Saburo's body. He trembled, jaw locked tight, as his master's corpse lay lifeless at his knees.
"Lord Yorinobu," he rasped, his voice shaking with grief and disbelief, "do you know who killed Mr. Saburo?"
Yorinobu's eyes flashed with that same hollow calm. "How should I know?" he said flatly. "I stepped out for a call. When I came back, my father was already lying there."
Then his tone hardened. "But you, Takemura… you were his bodyguard. His shadow. And yet you failed to protect him. That is a grave failure."
Takemura bowed his head. His voice was heavy, full of guilt and restrained rage. "Yes, Mr. Yorinobu. I accept full responsibility. I will commit seppuku to atone—but only after I find and kill the one who murdered Lord Saburo."
Yorinobu regarded him for a long, cold moment. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled. "Very well. I admire your loyalty, Takemura. But don't be so… rigid."
Takemura didn't respond. He simply drew his sword, flipped it horizontally, and presented it to Yorinobu with both hands. "My life is yours to take, Yorinobu-sama. But spare it until I bring you the killer's head."
Yorinobu waved his hand dismissively, that faint smirk still on his lips. "You won't die today, Takemura. But you're no longer Arasaka's personal guard. From this moment, all privileges granted to you by my father are revoked. Your implants, your access, your intel rights, your clearance with the network oversight division—all of it."
He leaned closer, voice a hiss. "You'll crawl through Night City like a broken dog until you find whoever did this. Fail… and never come back."
Takemura dropped to one knee. "Yes, Yorinobu-sama!" His voice was trembling, equal parts fury and loyalty. He snatched up his blade, turned, and left without another word.
The door closed. And the dynasty of Arasaka began to rot from the inside.
...
N54 News – Breaking Broadcast
"Good evening, Night City!"
The smooth, showman voice of Stanley blared across every screen in the city. "I'm your old pal Stan, and oh, do I have something juicy for you tonight!"
He grinned at the camera. "Just hours ago, history was rewritten. Arasaka's Konpeki Plaza—yes, that Konpeki—was breached. And get this: a group of cyberpunks infiltrated, killed the Saburo Arasaka, the founder himself!"
The feed behind him shifted—grainy footage of smoke, flashing lights, and Arasaka drones.
"But that's not all," Stan leaned in conspiratorially, eyes wide. "These punks didn't just kill the old god of Arasaka… they also took down Adam Smasher. Yeah, you heard me right—the walking apocalypse, the legend-killer himself. Gone!"
He spread his arms dramatically. "Fifty years. Fifty damn years since Smasher offed Johnny Silverhand—and no one ever managed to cross that line. Until tonight."
Across the city, bars and clubs erupted into chaos.
Neon lights flashed across laughing faces, the hum of bass shaking the walls. Every screen, every holo-ad, was tuned to N54.
"Holy shit!" someone shouted in a packed dive bar. "Whoever did it—whoever killed that old bastard—deserves a damn statue!"
"Raise your glasses!" another yelled, slamming his drink onto the table. "To whoever finally put Saburo Arasaka in the ground!"
"Adam Smasher too, man! That's not just a win—that's a damn miracle!"
"Who the hell were they?" someone else murmured, eyes gleaming with awe. "To break into Konpeki, kill Saburo, take down Smasher, and walk out alive?"
"Doesn't matter who they are," said a woman at the bar, raising a glowing cocktail. "All that matters is—they did it."
"Two Johnny Silverhands!" shouted another. "Pour 'em strong!"
"New legends are rising, chooms," Stan finished, his grin wide as the city skyline behind him burned. "Raise a glass to the ones who finally bled the machine dry!"
Tonight, Night City pulsed with fire and laughter. For once, the city wasn't mourning its dead—it was celebrating them.
...
At Delamain's pickup point, the chaos felt far away.
Neo stepped out of the shadows, the scent of gunpowder still clinging to him. He expected emptiness—his crew should've already gone dark. But to his surprise, the entire Edgerunner team was still there.
He frowned. "What are you guys doing here? I told you—"
He didn't even finish.
A blur of pink hair and fury slammed into his chest.
"Why?!" Rebecca's voice cracked as she looked up at him, eyes wet. "Why the hell would you do that?!"
Neo blinked, his hands automatically catching her as she hit him like a tiny storm.
"Why'd you send me away, huh?!" she demanded, her small fists hammering against his chest. "You think you can just… just decide I'm not needed anymore?!"
"Rebecca—"
"Shut up!" she barked, voice trembling. "You promised we'd stay together till the end! You said it! So why did you send me off like I was some burden?!"
Her voice broke, the anger melting into something raw and fragile. "You idiot… you almost didn't come back…"
Neo said nothing. He simply let her cry against him, her punches softening, her breath shaking.
Behind them, the rest of the crew stood watching.
Jackie chuckled, shaking his head. "Ay, hermano… glad you made it back."
David, bandaged and limping, gave a lazy grin. "Respect. Understanding. Blessings."
Suddenly, Neo cupped Rebecca's cheeks in his hands—firm, warm, grounding.
She froze, eyes wide.
Neo leaned down slowly. His voice was quiet, rough from the fight.
"Rebecca," he said, "I didn't send you away because I didn't need you. I sent you away because I couldn't lose you."
Then, as the neon lights of Night City flickered around them, he closed the space between them—
—and for one brief, stolen heartbeat, the world stopped.
Maine rubbed the back of his neck. "Didn't see a damn thing."
Dorio snorted. "Neither did I."
Pilar leaned against the car, smirking. "Guess my little sis grew up, huh? Can't keep her leashed anymore."
Rebecca turned her head sharply. "Pilar, shut the hell up!"