Noticing Vela's undisguised gaze, Yorinobu lifted his head, smiling gently in acknowledgment before resuming his apparent leisure—a relaxed Tokyo holiday on the surface, at least. One hand held a cup of sake while he reminisced with his sister Hanako about childhood memories. The other hand swiped across the low table's touchscreen, causing the holographic projector to flicker and form a vivid three-dimensional display before him.
It played the 2077 "Japanese Spring Festival Gala"—NHK's annual Red and White Song Battle—along with global news and political updates.
Yorinobu seemed calm and cheerful as they chatted, laughing at anecdotes. But Vela could sense the anxiety and restlessness beneath his composed exterior.
Calm as an old fox on the surface, inwardly panicking—that much was clear.
Indeed, Yorinobu had deeply infiltrated the Tokyo Biotech Research Center. When the topic of transferring personnel came up, he exhibited a visible emotional fluctuation.
Vela silently confirmed her judgment.
It hadn't been for nothing that, during her casual conversation with Saburo over shogi earlier, she had deliberately mentioned the [Sonnentreppe Project].
She had made sure to reveal, while Yorinobu was quietly observing the match, that she would soon visit Arasaka's Tokyo Biotech Research Center to review experimental progress and data updates—and that she might request a personnel transfer to assist the construction of the new Arasaka Technology District in Night City.
"Lord Yorinobu, it's your move."
With a bright gaze and an easy smile, Vela walked toward him. "Michiko has never cared much for shogi. Judging by the time, she should be close to losing."
"Mm."
Yorinobu nodded, murmured a few more words to Hanako, then stood and walked toward the inner room.
As they passed each other, Yorinobu caught, out of the corner of his eye, a brief flicker of crystalline blue light in Vela's left eye. Was it a pending North American Arasaka Security Division message? He didn't think much of it.
As a North American board candidate and relentless power consolidator, Vela undoubtedly had a mountain of documents awaiting her attention every day.
Still, her mention of visiting the Tokyo Biotech Research Center to inspect development progress—and her plan to transfer some personnel to assist the Night City Arasaka Technology Center's new district—
That was… troublesome.
The transfer itself was minor; Yorinobu wouldn't have cared otherwise. But at this critical moment—when he was on the verge of unveiling his plan—the final results of the [Sonnentreppe Project] were his trump card.
He feared Vela might reassign his people—those he had painstakingly recruited and embedded within the project, especially the key senior researchers—to Night City.
That project was unlike any other. Even as Saburo's son, the second Arasaka prince, he was treated almost like a potential saboteur when it came to matters touching Saburo's dream of eternal life.
He had worked hard to open access to the prototype lab—scheming, promising, maneuvering—and now, to see it all undone would be unbearable.
Yet, for now, he could make no move.
A gnawing fear of uncertainty crept through him. Beneath the wide sleeves of his ceremonial robe, Yorinobu clenched his fist tightly.
So be it. He would do what he could—and pray that Vela's transfer requests were random.
Expressionless, Yorinobu strode into the inner room.
"Brother…"
Seated formally behind the low table, Hanako's expression grew complicated as she watched her brother's back.
She could tell his mind was elsewhere—of course she could. Sensitive and perceptive as she was, she sensed the undercurrent easily.
The competition within an imperial family… even her once free-spirited, carefree brother could not escape it.
Hanako turned her gaze toward Vela.
The blonde woman adorned with jewels was like a noble rose—dangerous and deadly, yet undeniably beautiful. Everyone who met her admitted as much.
"Please, have a seat," Hanako said softly.
Her elegant fingers, adorned with woven platinum and liquid-metal accents, brushed across the tea set as she poured Vela a steaming cup of tea.
Vela, who had been planning to take a stroll through the courtyard, paused at the invitation.
"My thanks."
After a polite bow, she knelt across from Hanako, taking her seat on the cushion.
Silence settled between them. The only sounds beneath the eaves were those of servants quietly treading over the tatami mats and the gentle wind brushing past the wooden pillars.
At last, after Vela lifted her teacup and took a small sip, Hanako spoke in a soft, slightly bitter tone. "Vela, I have a question."
"You see, my brother Yorinobu once renounced power that was practically within his grasp. As the 'Steel Dragon,' he even swore to expose and destroy Arasaka. So why now—why can't he let go of what he once so despised?"
"Oh?"
Vela's deep indigo eyes sharpened, her relaxed composure giving way to quiet seriousness. She gently traced her finger around the rim of her teacup, her gaze drifting toward the moonlight as though weighing her words.
After a moment's pause, beneath the soft glow of the lantern, she smiled faintly. "If he doesn't fight, how will the world know that Yorinobu Arasaka's talents are no less than Kei Arasaka's?"
Hanako understood immediately.
"Because of Brother Kei…" she murmured, letting out a helpless sigh.
The conflict between Kei and Yorinobu had doomed them to eternal estrangement—enmity, hatred, and the certainty that they would never reconcile.
Was her brother fighting merely for pride…?
Watching Hanako still trying, even now, to mend the broken bond between herself and Yorinobu, Vela merely sipped her tea in silence.
She could hardly tell Hanako outright that her brother's lifelong ambition was to free the world from their father's tyranny—that his return to Arasaka had been nothing but strategic deceit, biding his time to bring down the company, destroy the megacorporations, and end corporate colonialism altogether.
"I think I heard you talking about my father?"
It was Michiko's voice. Hanako turned and invited her to join them, and Michiko seated herself without hesitation.
"We did," Hanako admitted. "But only the old stories—ancient history now. The love and hatred between Lord Kei and Lord Yorinobu."
Vela let out a small sigh as she took another sip. "Best not to dwell on the past. Such talk only breeds division. Let bygones be bygones."
Hanako nodded in agreement.
What she dreaded most was a true rupture between Yorinobu and Vela—should their rivalry ever ignite in earnest, the consequences would be catastrophic.
"Tomorrow morning, I'll be flying back to Night City," Vela said.
"Leaving so soon?" Hanako asked.
"I can't stay. Too much work to handle. The 'Frankfurt Incident'—the massacre by our Counter-Intelligence Division at the European Space Assembly—has been buried for two months. With Arasaka's growing dominance, our so-called 'allies' are growing uneasy. The international atmosphere is delicate… to say the least."
Vela turned toward Michiko. "And you?"
"Me?" Michiko took a sip of tea. "I'll go with you. You're not staying overnight at the compound, are you?"
"No. The [Sonnentreppe Project]—I have an office at the research center. It's easier to handle matters there. I'll meet you at Haneda International Airport in the morning."
"Alright."
The three continued chatting, their conversation naturally shifting to the hottest political events of late 2076.
Aunt and nieces they might be, but none were ordinary women—Hanako, 78; Michiko, 69; and the youngest, Vela, not yet twenty-five. Unsurprisingly, Vela showed little interest in gossip or romance. Michiko, on the other hand, had plenty to say about parties teeming with hormones and DNA, while Hanako's conservatism pulled the talk back toward world affairs.
"The 'Frankfurt Incident,'" Vela muttered. "Tch. Trying to sweep it under the rug—Counter-Intelligence handled it too crudely. To cover for them, I've been forced into countless debates, concessions, and compromises. And now with the [Jurassic Park Project]—ugh, I can already see the fights with Biotechnica coming."
"They always side with the weaker party," Michiko said with a sigh. "Myers' soft-power tactics still work, apparently. To keep us from crushing Militech and the New United States and monopolizing the Pacific Rim, even SovOil has begun to pull back its support—let alone the rest."
After a moment's thought, Michiko added, "If we're being pragmatic, Vela—you should postpone the [Jurassic Park Project]. Competing with Biotechnica in pharmaceuticals is one thing, but biotech cloning has always been their domain. If we enter aggressively, we'll drive them straight into Myers' arms."
Vela smiled faintly. "The clash is inevitable. In fact—it's already begun."
Vela's tone remained calm.
"Ever since we re-established the North American Free States Alliance, Biotechnica has grown increasingly meddlesome—making demands and inserting itself into every derivative pharmaceutical phase of the [Sonnentreppe Project]. They think we can't afford to abandon them."
"In times like this, we must not let ourselves be bound."
Her eyes gleamed with a deep orange-red data glow as her fingers moved rapidly across the holographic console on the low table. The screen displayed charts and feeds—North American geopolitical maps, mercenary war updates, changing support levels from allied corporations—all neatly compiled and refined from Arasaka's vast data networks.
At that moment, her superhuman computational and analytical abilities shone through completely.
"This is conquest," she said evenly. "Once we show signs of overtaking Militech and the New United States, they'll stop at nothing to hold us back. In the end, it all comes down to strength."
"Arasaka must abandon all illusions. We must become stronger, deeper… darker."
Perhaps her voice carried too much steel and fire, for both Goro Takemura and Sandayu Oda, standing silently in the shadows, turned their heads toward her.
Michiko shrugged. "Typical of your strategy."
Hanako, however, still seemed uneasy.
Before she could speak, a servant's respectful call interrupted them. The time had come—the annual family banquet was about to conclude.
The three women exchanged quiet glances, then rose together and returned indoors.
Once again, the clinking of cups and laughter filled the air. After one final round of drinks, the Arasaka family's New Year's banquet drew to a close. The music ended, and the guests dispersed.
Under the flickering candlelight, Vela bid farewell to Saburo and returned to her private residence.
Gathering her personal belongings, she soon departed the Arasaka Family Compound.
She would visit Arasaka's Tokyo Biotech Research Center—ostensibly to review and assign tasks—spend the night, and then return to Night City.
Bzzz… Bzzz…
Inside the luxurious hovercar bound for Tokyo, Vela leaned back into the soft leather of her aviation seat. A faint orange-red data light flickered in her eyes as she initiated multiple scans and security breaches. Even now, she doubted Saburo would risk monitoring her directly—but caution was never a mistake.
After several sweeps, the system confirmed the vehicle's internal network was clean. Only then did she place a silver-white biohazard transport case across her lap.
Biometric verification—password input—click. She reached into the insulated lining, and pop!—a faint, almost imperceptible sound like a bubble bursting.
Her mind drifted—across to the [Resident Evil] world, to the roaring crowds of the Staples Center: fans cheering as they received free food and drinks, NBA Commissioner David Stern's flattering praise, Lakers owner Jerry Buss' eager flattery, the F4 lineup playing with unprecedented harmony, her midcourt trick shot during halftime drawing wild applause, and her spur-of-the-moment promise afterward: "If you win the 2003 NBA Championship, Militech will gift every starting player a new model helicopter."
Leaving the arena…
Until, back in San Francisco, in Militech Industrial Park No.1's underground headquarters, her other self moved in synchrony—reaching into a refrigerated containment unit, guiding a mechanical arm to retrieve a vial of bright red viral serum. The sample passed safety scans, was sealed, sterilized, and then extracted.
Hiss—
Feeling the weight settle in her palm, Vela withdrew her hand from the case.
A small cylindrical containment tube bearing the '☣' biohazard symbol gleamed under the cabin lights as she lifted it before her eyes.