"You stay, Karl." The words from Saburo Arasaka were calm—yet they hit like a stone thrown into still water, sending ripples in every direct
"You stay, Karl."
The words from Saburo Arasaka were calm—yet they hit like a stone thrown into still water, sending ripples in every direction.
The four by the elevator, ready to leave, immediately turned their heads, each one staring back in disbelief.
'Did Saburo-sama... Saburo Arasaka... that old bastard... just say what I think he said?'
He told Karl to stay?
None of them had seen that coming. Even Senno Arasaka was momentarily stunned when he heard his father say it.
This deviation from the plan sent Senno's mind racing.
Why? Why leave Karl behind?
He had spent years dulling his own edge, burying his former defiance, wearing the mask of a loyal corporate drone. All so Saburo would believe he was tame now—controllable.
But even so, keeping Karl in the room was a clear risk.
There were three of them here—and Karl was a top-tier merc. Why would Saburo make such a gamble, especially without Goro Takemura by his side?
Did he truly believe Senno lacked both the will and the strength to resist?
Senno thought of the operatives he had lost in Japan during the data heist. A brief glint of cold sharpness flickered in his eyes—quick enough that Saburo didn't notice.
He had planned to face Saburo alone if he had to.
But if Karl stayed—so much the better.
No. Saburo Arasaka… the moment you stepped out of Japan and set foot in Night City, you had already lost.
Fifty years—half a century—of bowing, groveling, pretending to be a dog. Senno had nearly forgotten who he really was under that corporate mask.
But now, finally, the day had come.
Head bowed, Senno betrayed no emotion. His silence told of decades of burden and waiting.
To Saburo, Senno's submissive posture was expected. That was how every would-be rebel ended up in front of him—crushed and compliant.
He had grown used to this version of Senno.
Perhaps, in Saburo's mind, this was the "correct" version.
But beneath that bowed head, Senno's eyes gleamed—clear and sharp.
Like a dagger hidden inside a scroll, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
And just when it seemed Senno had once again surrendered to Saburo's will… Karl spoke.
"Why me?"
He looked directly at Saburo Arasaka, voice calm, expression unreadable.
No title. No respect. Not even a name.
"I don't think we know each other that well."
Saburo heard the words without reacting. His voice remained level:
"Because I told you to."
It wasn't an explanation. It was an order.
Because he had said so, it had to be done. Because he had chosen it, there could be no argument. No reasoning. No resistance.
That was Saburo Arasaka.
A man who had ruled uncontested for over a century.
Now 158 years old, Saburo had inherited Arasaka Corporation from his father at the age of 41. He had transformed a mid-sized manufacturing company into one of the most powerful megacorporations on the planet.
His word was policy. His will was law. He was Arasaka's emperor.
And emperors could choose whether to explain themselves—or not at all.
Even Lucas Harford, Militech's CEO, and Rosalind Myers, President of the New United States, had to bow to that authority.
His old rival, Donald Lundee—Militech's first CEO and nearly twenty years younger—had died earlier this year.
Saburo Arasaka's authority and legacy stood unrivaled.
But Karl didn't believe in authority. And he sure as hell didn't respect decrepit old tyrants.
"Yeah, I don't feel like doing what you say."
He stared Saburo dead in the eye, voice as flat as ice.
"Who the hell do you think you are?"
He said it calmly—but the words exploded like a bomb in the room.
Everyone froze.
Goro Takemura was in shock. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard—a young mercenary spitting in the face of Saburo Arasaka.
How could he? No—how dared he?
Did this man even know who he was talking to?
Even the president of the NUSA, who'd probably love to see Saburo dead, would still put on a smile and pretend to listen. But this—this street mercenary dared say that?
Takemura burned with fury. He started to move—but V, Jackie, and Oliver immediately blocked his path in perfect sync.
They were shocked too, but it only took them a second to realize—
Yeah. That's Karl. That's exactly what he'd say.
And just like that, they reacted.
"We're leaving," Jackie said, clenching his fists.
"Didn't you hear, lapdog?" Oliver smirked, hand at his side.
V had already drawn his thermal katana an inch from its sheath.
They were ready for whatever came next.
Tension thickened in the room, ready to explode.
But before it did—Saburo Arasaka spoke again.
"Stand down. Let him be, Goro."
He commanded without raising his voice. His eyes were fixed on Karl—on this brazen young man who reminded him, perhaps, of the Senno of old. Maybe even more defiant.
"I don't want to hear those words again."
Karl didn't flinch.
"I don't mind saying them again."
Saburo's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Instead, he slowly sat across from Senno Arasaka.
And then, his gaze shifted to his son.
"I hope you can keep your subordinates in check."
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🔥🦾 CYBERPUNK: THE RELENTLESS 🦾🔥
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