Chapter 231: The Ultimate Humiliation
Night City panted and struggled to adapt under the new order, while outside the city, on the turbulent sea, the Arasaka White Whale carrier battle group was shrouded in a repressive storm on the verge of eruption.
Anger, like potent poison, was spreading fiercely along the veins of Arasaka's high command.
This had long surpassed the scope of military defeat—their proud "Onimusha" power armor legion had been crushed like rotten wood by that mysterious torrent of steel, and the vital Arasaka Waterfront logistics hub had been turned to scorched earth in a mere half-hour. These were calculable losses.
But at this moment, a humiliation that touched the very foundation of the empire was being displayed nakedly before the world: the core image and digital persona of the "Administrator" AI, pushed onto the stage by Joric to become the new master of Night City, was none other than Kei Arasaka, the Arasaka heir who had fallen fifty years ago!
To the civilians of Night City, and even to analysts at Militech and Kang Tao, this might just be an efficient yet unfamiliar management program.
But in the eyes of Yorinobu Arasaka, Shintaro Takayama, and especially the aging controller of the empire deep within that residence in Tokyo, that face—the heir upon whom countless resources had been poured, carefully cultivated as the blueprint for the empire's future—appearing now was tantamount to the most vicious blasphemy.
Inside the bridge command room of the White Whale, the air was so heavy it felt like water could be wrung from it.
Shintaro Takayama stared fixedly at the "Kei Arasaka" reading the city management regulations on the holographic screen. Veins throbbed violently at his temples, and his clenched fists were white-knuckled from excessive force; he was oblivious to his fingernails digging deep into his palms.
Every calm byte spat from the AI's mouth was like an invisible slap, striking his face ruthlessly.
Beside him, Yorinobu Arasaka maintained his usual gloom on the surface, but a more complex undercurrent surged deep in his eyes.
There was shock at his half-brother, who had once wished him dead, "reappearing" in such a manner, and even greater rage at Joric's provocative act.
However, beneath this sea of rage lurked a twisted pleasure he was unwilling to face himself—that "perfect heir" who had always suppressed him, that indelible mark in his father's heart, had now been reduced to a puppet of their enemy. Wasn't this the most biting irony for that old monster?
"He... how dare he!" Shintaro Takayama's voice squeezed through his teeth, carrying incredulous tremors and monstrous hatred. "Using Young Master Kei's... this is blasphemy! It is the most vicious insult to the entire Arasaka Empire!"
Yorinobu sneered, his voice hoarse. "Of course he dares. He is telling us right now that in his eyes, Arasaka's past, present, and even future heirs are nothing but tools and data he can use at will."
He understood the meaning of Joric's move better than Takayama. This wasn't just slapping Arasaka in the face; it was carving a knife ruthlessly into Saburo Arasaka's most sensitive, untouchable old scar.
This slap crossed the vast Pacific Ocean and landed precisely in Tokyo, in that Japanese estate as silent as a tomb, guarded by layers of security.
Saburo Arasaka, the old man who had controlled the Arasaka Empire for nearly a century, was sunk deep in his custom-made chair. The rhythmic, faint humming of his life support system formed a sharp contrast with his violently fluctuating emotions at this moment.
On the holographic screen before him, the face of the "Administrator" AI was clearly frozen—that face was calm, serious, carrying a style and inner temperament he was once incredibly familiar with, had secretly approved of, and which was almost identical to his own.
Completely unlike the rebellious Yorinobu who always harbored resistance, Kei Arasaka was the work Saburo had truly sculpted according to the blueprint of an imperial heir, pouring in his heart and soul, even if mixed with harsh polishing and ruthless scrutiny.
This son might not have fully met his initial expectations in pioneering spirit and certain key decisions, and even hid the fact that he left behind a bloodline in America in his personal life, but undeniably, most of the time, Kei Arasaka's performance was far closer to the standard of a qualified heir than Yorinobu.
He was steady, ruthless, skilled in calculation, and always placed family interests above all else.
If not for the sudden accident of the Fourth Corporate War, Saburo had already planned to gradually transfer power to this eldest son.
For decades, Saburo forced himself to bury the pain of losing his son deep in his memories, pouring all his energy into consolidating the empire's foundation and controlling and taming Yorinobu, the "second choice."
But now, Joric had not only dug Kei Arasaka out of the grave of data but publicly transformed him into a "butler" AI serving their enemy!
This was practically nailing the former Crown Prince of the Arasaka Empire, the heir Saburo had exhausted his life's blood to nurture, to a pillar of shame for the outside world to gawk at, comment on, and even command!
Bang!
A dull thud broke the dead silence of the room.
Saburo's withered, eagle-claw-like hand slammed onto the armrest of his chair. Though the strike seemed weak due to his age, it revealed the boiling rage churning within him.
Muscles twitched uncontrollably on his deeply wrinkled face, and a cold light capable of freezing the air shot from his sunken eye sockets.
For Saburo, who always prided himself on remaining composed even if Mount Tai collapsed before him, this loss of composure was rare.
"When the Lord is humiliated, the vassal dies."
This creed, originating from the ancient East and held as a golden rule in Japanese culture, now hung like an invisible blade over the head of every Arasaka executive on the White Whale.
In ancient times, if a samurai's lord suffered humiliation, it could only be washed away with blood—either by taking the enemy's head or by committing seppuku to show resolve.
Even under the guise of a modern corporation, this ideology of loyalty rooted in feudal tradition persisted stubbornly in the blood of the Arasaka Empire, deliberately reinforced as a spiritual shackle to maintain power.
Shintaro Takayama's back was rigid, clearly feeling this crushing pressure.
This pressure came from the silent yet sharp gaze in that deep residence in Tokyo, from the cold, piercing stare of Yorinobu beside him, but even deeper, from the concept of loyalty instilled in him since childhood.
He knew better than anyone that if he could not respond in the most intense, decisive manner at this moment, then Shintaro Takayama was unworthy to continue commanding Arasaka's fleet. He would have to demonstrate his loyalty to his lord in the most "traditional" way—with his life.
All calm strategic deductions, all rational thinking weighing pros and cons, were thoroughly swallowed by that surging sense of humiliation in this moment.
International condemnation potentially triggered by bringing war into the urban area? The military and political backlash that might follow? These considerations were no longer important.
Only one burning thought remained in Shintaro Takayama's mind—he must make Night City, and that so-called "Sage" who blasphemed Arasaka's glory, pay the most painful price for their arrogance!
Only blood and fire could wash away this bone-deep humiliation.
(End of Chapter)