The Parade of the Float was a grand event that swept through the entirety of Japantown. Though the parade hadn't yet begun, the streets were already glittering with lights and color. Luxurious floral decorations were placed everywhere, and a sweet, refreshing fragrance filled the air. Karl and Johnny Silverhand walked side by side through the bustling crowd, surrounded by prosperity and spectacle.
Johnny Silverhand's dog nose was twitching like a turbocharger, sniffing at the scents around him. Karl watched as Johnny stretched out a paw to grab a decorative flower, crushed it in his claws, and brought it close to his nose.
"Real flowers? The scent is so damn intense it's crawling up my skull. Those Arasaka bastards must've pulled some strings to get these—just a couple days ago I saw some suit-wearing corpo mutt crouched in an alley, head practically jammed into a comms terminal, probably trying to order this shit. Christ, it's the 21st century and they're still playing medieval court games. Someone should drill some holes in their heads for ventilation."
"It's Saburo Arasaka's funeral, after all. A little display of mourning and loyalty from the underlings is to be expected."
Karl's tone was indifferent. He wasn't the least bit surprised that Johnny could pick up scents—after all, part of Qiuqiu's old mods included scent recognition, to help identify deadly gases. That Johnny could detect smells was nothing unusual. What really caught Karl's attention was something else entirely.
He reached out and caught a cherry blossom petal drifting from above, then looked at the chrysanthemums arranged nearby.
Shinmokiku—a white chrysanthemum highly revered in Japan, traditionally used for funerals and festivals. In the past, they were commonly seen all across Japan, but nowadays in the Americas, they were extremely rare.
These falling cherry petals and ornate floral decorations would probably only be used once, right? Just imagining the cost made it clear how expensive this was.
Fresh flowers these days were more expensive than fresh vegetables. Just one of these petals could be worth a week—or even a month—of meals for an average street-dweller.
Karl wasn't marveling at the extravagance of Saburo Arasaka's funeral. His thoughts were far simpler, almost quaint:
"These flowers smell pretty damn good. Kinda feels like a waste to use them for Saburo's funeral. Maybe I'll snag a few and bring them home. Not exactly auspicious, but should make the place smell better for a day or two. Put them in a jar with some water… might even improve the air a little."
He wasn't the only one thinking that.
On the streets of Japantown, many others were eyeing this "opportunity." Once the parade ended, Arasaka would leave behind a carpet of "trash." To the corporate dogs up top, these were waste—but to people on the bottom, these rare flowers were treasures.
If it weren't for the Arasaka agents and Tiger Claws maintaining order in the streets, folks would've already started "liberating" the flowers. For now, no one dared act under their watchful eyes—but that thievery was only postponed until after the parade.
It was easy to imagine: the moment the corpos cleared out, the Tiger Claws would seize the flowers first, and then everyone else would dive in. Right after Saburo Arasaka's funeral, Japantown might be looking at a few more.
Or… perhaps no one would be left to hold funerals for those ones.
Disguised once again to avoid recognition, Karl sat at a roadside food stall with Johnny Silverhand. There was still some time before the parade started. Having arrived early, the two had already handled most of their preparations. All that remained was to wait.
During that lull…
Karl scanned the food stall and noticed—perhaps due to its location in Japantown—it specialized in authentic Japanese cuisine.
Karl wasn't particularly hungry, but with time to kill, he figured: why not try something?
His eyes flicked across the menu, and he called out to the busy vendor:
"One yakitori, one tempura platter, and a bowl of ramen."
"Right away, customer! Today's yakitori is highly recommended!"
Hearing the vendor's heavily accented Japanese, Karl had a pretty good idea of just how "authentic" this Japanese cuisine really was. Still, he didn't mind. He simply nodded slightly.
This sort of thing was far too common to be surprising.
"You're hungry? And you're gonna eat that junk?"
Johnny's voice chimed in over the comm channel as Karl ordered. "This crap's worse than protein bars."
"Ramen's actually not bad," Karl replied calmly. "The authentic stuff's a bit greasy, intense flavor, hard to get used to unless you pair it with something. But the fake versions—since they use better noodles—taste alright."
To outsiders, Karl walking around with a dog wasn't anything strange. Japantown was crawling with corpo types and high-ranking execs, many of whom liked to parade around with bioengineered pets. Attending Saburo's funeral was the perfect excuse to show them off.
But talking pets were a different story. If a dog spoke human language, that was guaranteed to turn heads. No matter the context, a dog that talked was always going to be stranger than one that didn't.
While Karl and Johnny chatted, the vendor worked with surprising speed. In just two or three minutes, Karl's full order was set before him.
Ramen with malt-based synthetic char siu, tempura made from restructured shrimp and synthetic vegetables, and yakitori crafted from mystery meat and compressed sawdust plastic.
Ah, true Night City classics.
In the past, Karl wouldn't have touched any of this aside from the ramen. But these days…
He calmly slurped the noodles, then used his chopsticks to pick up a piece of fried shrimp. It had none of that characteristic springiness—just a soft, mushy texture. Without changing expression, Karl bit into the yakitori.
"Shit. Aside from the ramen and the tempura batter, the rest of this is absolute trash."
Karl had gotten more used to Night City over time. He could now stomach things that used to be unthinkable. His body had adapted, yes—but bad food was still bad food.
With a calm exterior and turbulent thoughts, Karl finished his meal just to put something in his stomach. And just as he set down his chopsticks…
He saw it.
The float platform was arriving.
The memorial parade for Saburo Arasaka—
Had begun.
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🔥 CYBERPUNK: THE RELENTLESS
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