March 10, 2068
Tokyo – Yorinobu Arasaka's Estate
"Sorry I didn't get back to your message sooner, Michiko-chan. Things got a bit hectic. I hope you're not too upset," the dark-haired Japanese man offered an apologetic smile, watching his niece's hologram intently.
"Uncle, I've gotten used to you vanishing for weeks, sometimes even months," the girl replied gently. "Honestly, I'm just happy you could squeeze a few minutes out of your busy schedule for me."
Hearing her words, Yorinobu felt another pang of guilt. "Mi-chan, did you at least like my gift?" he ventured hopefully.
"You know how I feel about gifts," Michiko shook her head softly. "But thank you for the thought, Oji-chan."
"Sorry, sorry. I just felt bad about missing out and couldn't think of anything better," Yorinobu admitted, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.
"All these years, and you're still painfully honest," Michiko chuckled softly, brushing away a few sudden tears. "Oh, Oba-chan asked about you," she casually slipped in, bringing up Sanderson.
"I'll reach out to her soon. I still owe her an apology, too," Yorinobu nodded, masking his embarrassment behind a forced cough.
"You forgot to wish her a happy birthday. This time, you're on your own, Oji-chan," Michiko teased, smiling playfully at her uncle's expression. He clearly knew he was at fault; a simple birthday card wouldn't have hurt.
"Mi-chan, is she really angry?"
"Who knows?" Michiko shrugged nonchalantly, then softened her tone. "Fine, I'll help you out again — but this is the very last time, Uncle."
"I owe you one," Yorinobu sighed, adjusting his glasses.
"Yeah, yeah," she waved her hand dismissively, smiling.
Her uncle suddenly grew serious, shifting the mood abruptly. "Michiko, I've been hearing troubling rumors about rising tensions in the NUSA. Maybe you should consider returning to Japan — just for a year or two?"
The shift in his demeanor was so sudden that Sanderson barely had time to process her uncle's words. "I understand your concerns, but I still have important matters in Night City that need my direct attention. Don't worry," she smiled reassuringly. "If anything happens, Ninja won't let anyone touch me."
"Ichiro Abe is a skilled shinobi, no question," Yorinobu conceded with a nod. "But maybe you're placing too much faith in him — or is there someone else now?" he asked teasingly, amused by the way his niece's gaze flickered nervously. "Relax, I won't tell your grandfather."
"Oji-san, your jokes cross the line sometimes," Michiko scolded gently, regaining her composure and leveling a mock-serious glare at him.
"Ha-ha, forgive me — I just couldn't resist," Yorinobu chuckled lightly, then cleared his throat, expression turning sincere again. "Thanks for making the time, Mi-chan. Unfortunately, I've got to run. I'll be speaking with Hanako tomorrow, so I'm counting on your assistance. See you soon."
"Take care," Michiko's hologram flickered and vanished, leaving Yorinobu once more alone in silence.
Glancing briefly out the window, Arasaka heaved a heavy sigh, picked up a bottle of champagne from the table, and stepped out into the garden. This was his sanctuary — a place he'd carefully designed himself, one where he spent most of his waking hours. Even in the colder months, Yorinobu tried to visit the garden at least once a week. It was here, among these familiar surroundings, that memories of his turbulent youth came most vividly to life. Now, as he passed his seventieth birthday, the Emperor's son had grown sentimental about anything tied to those long-gone days.
"How many years has it been?" the dark-haired man whispered softly, gazing upward at the faintly glittering stars above.
For most of his adult life, Yorinobu had opposed his father, a rebellion that sparked a quiet feud between himself and certain family members. Saburo had long been disappointed in his younger son, and only his daughter's intervention had prevented the patriarch from cutting him off entirely — or worse.
Yorinobu and Hanako had always shared a special bond, enabling them to speak candidly with one another. For years, they'd met once a month to talk for hours in private, covering a vast array of topics. Despite their differences, they'd always managed to find common ground. Yet recently, Yorinobu had broken their cherished tradition. He deeply regretted his mistake and could only hope his sister would forgive this slight.
Guilt gnawed at him constantly, but circumstances had left him no choice. On the second of March — Hanako's birthday — fortune had finally smiled upon him. An anonymous benefactor had appeared, offering him the key to the resources he'd long needed. Without much hesitation, Yorinobu had agreed to a highly questionable deal, enticed by its remarkably favorable terms. He received the means to challenge his father directly, while his mysterious new ally gained unprecedented access to nearly every confidential aspect of the Arasaka Corporation — including their most guarded development projects.
For years, desperation had consumed the Emperor's son. He had reached the point where any chance, no matter how dubious, to end his father's tyranny felt justified. Saburo's ideals, rigid and outdated, threatened disastrous consequences for the entire world. Having lived for over a century, Yorinobu believed his father had long ago lost touch with reality. Society — especially Japan — had moved far beyond the old ways, yet Saburo clung to them ever more fiercely, with Arasaka Corporation becoming increasingly authoritarian with each passing year.
The breaking point for Yorinobu had come decades earlier, during a chilling conversation with his father. Saburo had openly revealed his ambitions, his voice filled with cold certainty:
"I despise America. I will bring that country to its knees. First, I'll provide them with every luxury they dream of, then I'll tighten the noose of dependency around their necks. In the end, I'll sell the gaijin the very chains they'll gladly accept."
Such thoughts filled Yorinobu with disgust, echoing relentlessly in his mind. It was at that very moment he had set his life's goal: to stop Saburo and erase the dark shadow his legacy cast upon the world. He couldn't allow someone like his father to rise unchecked, imposing his twisted will on others and robbing humanity of its fundamental right — freedom. That day, father and son had silently become enemies, a status that remained unchanged to this day.
Yorinobu, the Emperor's younger son, had often heard tales of his father's past. Saburo loved reminiscing, seemingly living only through memories of a once-glorious Japan. He frequently retold the story of the day he nearly ended his life in the family garden, and the sudden epiphany that saved him from the barbaric act of seppuku. That revelation, Saburo claimed, showed him his true path: to resurrect the Land of the Rising Sun from the ashes, with himself at its head, transforming it into the economic and political heart of the world — a world in which Arasaka Corporation's leader dictated every aspect of people's lives, crushing any opposition beneath his heel.
"History has already demonstrated the futility of Nazism — the very path Japan once blindly followed," Yorinobu thought bitterly. "Why can't you accept that, Father?"
***
March 10, 2068
Arroyo – Megabuilding H4
Gloria Martinez (Cortes)
Beep-beep-beep-beep...
Gloria's eyes snapped open, and she nearly rolled right off the bed. Reflexively slamming her hand onto the button of the old alarm clock — an ancient relic from the Fourth Corporate War — she rolled onto her back, shielding her eyes from the harsh morning sunlight streaming through the window. After a prolonged yawn, the Latina turned onto her side, slowly realizing something felt off. Her groggy brain took a moment to catch up before she finally pinpointed the issue: the sheets beside her were rumpled, a clear indication her husband had already been up for a while.
"So, he's awake," she muttered softly, pushing herself up and shuffling toward the shower without further delay.
After freshening herself up and regaining some semblance of alertness, Gloria wandered into the kitchen, drawn by enticing aromas drifting through the apartment. Curious and slightly amused, she paused in the doorway, quietly observing Jeremy and David at the stove, each wearing a practiced look of seriousness as they cooked something surprisingly appetizing.
"Morning," Jeremy called out cheerfully, glancing over his shoulder and spotting his wife, who froze mid-step, caught off guard. "Did you just wake up?"
"You two are up early," Martinez remarked, stepping toward the stove.
"Not everyone can sleep in, you know?" Jeremy shot back playfully, flashing a quick grin and winking at his son. "Anyway, seeing how exhausted you were last night, our 'men's council' decided breakfast duty was ours today." He brandished the wooden spatula with mock seriousness.
"Work was chaos yesterday. If Alex hadn't stepped in, we'd still be stuck there," Gloria sighed heavily, massaging her temples.
"Let me guess, lots of fresh bullet wounds?"
"Exactly," Cortes nodded wearily, gratefully accepting a glass of water with a fizzing vitamin tablet from David. "I wouldn't be surprised if every clinic in the megabuilding was overflowing."
"What happened last night?" David asked curiously.
"Sixth Street got into it with the Valentinos down in Vista del Rey. I don't know all the details, but the cops sure took their sweet time stepping in. By the time MaxTac finally showed up, most of the fighting was over. They just cleaned up whoever hadn't managed to escape Haywood yet."
"The gangs are getting bolder. It's only a matter of time before we see another major crackdown," Gloria added bitterly.
"Or something even worse," Jeremy muttered grimly. "Corporations don't appreciate disruptions to their business. If these street rats push too far, things might reach a boiling point — and then we're all caught in the crossfire."
"Just like a few years back?"
"Could be worse," Jeremy said, shaking his head and driving the knife into the cutting board with a sharp thunk. "Enough grim talk first thing in the morning. Let's eat first, and worry about the rest later."
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