Cyberpunk: Infinite Progress Begins with Arasaka Chapter 61: Vela and Saburo — A "Mutual Pursuit"

"Commander Takayama Shintaro, it has been a while."

Naturally, Vela raised her right hand in salute, pressing it to her left chest as she slightly bowed her upper body, her gaze direct and her head upright—no sign of guilt or avoidance.

Creak.

Descending the short wooden steps of the pavilion, Shintaro Takayama—with his graying hair tied back in a ponytail—cut a broad, powerful figure for a Japanese man. His face was firm and weathered by ti, much like his thick, silver-streaked beard.

eting the gaze of her nominal superior in the Arasaka Security Division without flinching, Vela silently compared him to Saburo Arasaka.

By age, he too was from the last century, but unlike Saburo—whom she had glimpsed earlier in the wheelchair—Takayama's face wasn't overrun with deep wrinkles or extensive age spots.

Then again, Saburo had fought in the Pacific War in his youth, an ace pilot severely wounded and nearly forced into seppuku. His health had long since been depleted.

After enduring the Old Night—Saburo's term for the post-war Arican occupation—and raising Arasaka to global supremacy, he had grown too old to benefit from the explosion of biotech and cybernetic advancents.

Even basic cyberware implants or organ replacents had to be approached with extre caution.

Yet in spite of all this, Saburo had used his indomitable will to live, backed by Arasaka's imnse wealth and cutting-edge tech, to prolong his life for over half a century—not curing his ailnts, but forcibly delaying death.

Only a family-run corporate behemoth like Arasaka could sustain such an effort.

"Vela Adelheid, you did well in Johannesburg, South Africa."

Shintaro Takayama stopped in front of her.

"Even during the most relaxed monts of your study tour, you didn't forget your duty as a senior security commander. Sharp, steady, responsible, rising to the occasion—identifying problems and resolving them. In less than three days, you demonstrated all the traits a commander should have in the face of anti-terror operations. I believe Fred Russell would be proud of you."

Ah, classic paternal tone. Standard lecture-style speech.

Vela comnted silently to herself.

Though he ntioned her father, unlike Jas Thomas in Night City, there was no warmth or attempt at relatability. Even when he pretended, Takayama didn't care to hide the condescension behind his praise.

And what could she say?

"It was my honor."

With a slight smile, Vela shifted her gaze to the Arasaka family crest beside the cobblestone path. "I'm grateful for the company's trust—for granting temporary military authorization in my mont of fury."

"You earned it. I hope your future actions will continue to rit such trust."

Takayama had no intention of probing further. He ignored the slightly too-formal tone of her response.

It was a trivial issue. After all, the fact that she had been allowed into the Arasaka Family Compound ant that her background had already been thoroughly dissected by Arasaka intelligence. It signified trust—marked her as a core asset of the company.

There was no need for her to be one of those fawning loyal dogs weeping with gratitude.

Did anyone on the Arasaka board or the heads of global branches truly serve with unwavering loyalty?

Unlikely. Most sought to use Arasaka as a platform for their own ambitions.

Desire drove most people.

Whrrr—

As Takayama stepped aside, a faint noise ca from wheels rubbing against the wooden floor. Goro Takemura pushed the wheelchair toward the edge of the pavilion, stopping the aged figure beside the stairs.

"Lord Saburo."

Vela once again bowed with hand to chest. Compared to her standard greeting to Takayama, this ti her bow was deeper—around 30° to 45°—conveying far more deference and submission.

Yes—respect and obedience.

Nothing shaful about admitting it. Being a corporate dog at Arasaka ultimately ans obeying Saburo Arasaka.

Vela saw it clearly. The future was the future. No matter how great her ambition or how many ways she could explain it, for now, she was just a corporate dog clawing her way up through Arasaka.

As for respect?

Because Saburo was worthy of it.

Respect doesn't an loyalty.

Say what you will about the man—this old bastard, this arrogant fossil, this relic of the Showa era, this delusional titan who reached enlightennt in reverse just before committing seppuku—Saburo Arasaka, the iron-fisted emperor who raised Arasaka to the height it enjoys today, was undeniably ruthless, capable, sharp, and bold. Far superior to his stiff-minded contemporaries from the Showa generation.

And Vela's highest form of respect for him would be to steal away Arasaka—the empire he spent his entire life building—by any ans necessary.

"A cunning young one."

Saburo Arasaka spoke, his withered vocal cords straining. He spoke only in Japanese.

He looked at Vela, his dried-riverbed brows relaxing slightly. Deep-set eyes, cold gray irises flashed with sharp clarity.

"You said the Sonnentreppe Project was ant as a plaything for Michiko. But it's more likely you wanted to showcase your own talent. Clever girl. After arriving in Tokyo, you tread carefully, step by step, and discovered my greatest current vulnerability. You were also lucky. Your findings and achievents caught my attention. So tell —what do you want now that you're standing before ?"

"Lord Saburo is as insightful as ever."

Vela looked at Saburo, her calm expression tinged with faint excitent.

"Indeed, nothing can escape your eyes. I rely dread of eting you."

"Oh? eting ?" Saburo's interest was piqued. "Go on."

"At Arasaka, not just anyone gets to et you. And those who do—every single one of them was once soone I had to look up to..."

That was her reply.

Though, she added silently, what I most want is to see you and Yorinobu alone in a room together.

Of course, that would co later. For now, she needed ti to grow, and Saburo's power to shelter her.

"That was then. Now, you are one of the very people others look up to."

Apparently pleased with her response, creak—Saburo declined Goro Takemura's help, gripping the armrest and shakily standing up from his wheelchair.

"Co closer, Vela Adelheid."

Vela had no objection. She was curious to see what exactly Saburo was trying to pull.

Just as she was about to step forward—

"But Lord Saburo, she..."

The loyal hound, Goro Takemura, hesitated.

"She is the backbone of Arasaka's future. Her parents gave their lives in service to our revival. She fought long and hard on the North Arican front line in Night City against our old rival Militech. Her loyalty is not yours to question, Goro."

Saburo spoke calmly.

"Understood!" Takemura paused, then bowed to Vela at a full ninety degrees without hesitation. "Supervisor Russell, I apologize for my words."

He stepped aside.

Vela observed it all.

A mix of benevolence and authority. Old-school, but effective.

So, you're playing good cop now?

She walked forward, stopping just below the pavilion steps, tilting her head slightly upward to gaze at the close, backlit figure of Saburo Arasaka.

Her acute senses and uncanny intuition picked up a faint, almost fictional stench.

Saburo's body felt like aged at teetering on the edge of rot, preserved only by the most advanced, exorbitant biotech, struggling to contain the ambitious but decaying soul within.

At this range—if she really wanted to kill Saburo…

"Lord Saburo," Vela bowed slightly.

Unaware of her thoughts, Saburo continued examining the Arasaka elite standing before him.

Sothing that no video feed could ever capture.

Tall, striking, radiant—the cascade of golden-silver hair flowed freely behind her head. What stunned Saburo even more was the sheer vitality and life force emanating from her.

His own decay…

Dawn's rise versus dusk's fall.

The stark contrast made Saburo clench his hands behind his back without even realizing it.

He abandoned his old plan. A new idea was beginning to take shape.

He didn't fear Vela's ambition. In Arasaka, aside from the singular top position, it was always about the capable rising, the weak falling.

Even aside from the importance of the Sonnentreppe Project, as Shintaro had said—she truly was a genius, a rare all-rounder. Given her background and her achievents, she was undoubtedly a raw gem gifted to Arasaka by Amaterasu herself.

Saburo murmured, "Each generation brings forth its own talents…"

The half-classical, half-Japanese phrase made Vela pause. She had been focusing on acting harmless, silently counting the wrinkles on his forehead.

Huh?

I ca here to sell you the dream, and you're selling one to first?

"Pardon , Lord Saburo—may I ask, what was that line from?"

Vela inquired politely. Whether or not she understood it didn't matter—it opened the door to deeper conversation.

"Impatient. Even the finest jade must still be polished," Saburo said without irritation. "Shintaro has great regard for you. He has recomnded you to several tis."

Corporate dogs have a keen sense for political winds. Saburo didn't waste ti; he didn't paint a dream—he simply laid out the feast.

"Can you bear the burden of directly facing the pressure from Militech?"

"I can," Vela responded without hesitation. "Night City and the West Coast belong to Arasaka. The Aricas must never fall solely to Militech."

You ask, I answer.

Targeting Militech was almost politically correct within Arasaka.

Anyone with half a brain could see it—if Arasaka wanted to rise further, and Militech wanted to lead NUSA's return to global dominance, the two sides would inevitably clash.

"Excellent. That's the kind of sharpness I like in young people." Saburo nodded with satisfaction. "Vela Adelheid, step forward."

Thump thump.

Vela ascended the wooden steps. Under Goro Takemura's laser-sharp gaze, now glowing faintly red with wariness, she approached Saburo—no more than three steps away.

"Walk with , young one."

Saburo took the center, Shintaro Takayama on the left (the place of honor in Japanese tradition), and Vela on the right. She followed three and two steps behind them, respectively.

Strolling through a grove of cherry blossoms—perhaps the mood had reached the right pitch—Saburo began to comnt on Vela's field discovery and the subsequent attack.

"Your deduction was correct. Militech... Hmph, a lucky accident. They elevated their response because of your past feats, believing Arasaka had so key initiative underway. In truth, it was rely your personal project. And if they couldn't obtain it—they destroyed it. Barbarians. They've never changed—crude, vile... 52 years ago, the Night City nuke—we'll settle that debt soday."

"But for that, I need ti. Vela, how confident are you in your Sonnentreppe Project?"

A very intimate way to ask.

Finally—

You finished painting your dream, now it's ti for mine.

Vela's eyes lit up.

"Lord Saburo, based on my preliminary experints, the properties of the Sonnentreppe flower and the Progenitor Virus are undeniable. It has a significant capacity to enhance physical functions, regenerate aged cells, and revitalize life force."

She continued with poise: "During the Johannesburg 6.7 Terror Attack, I acquired two unexpected experintal data points..."

The only real path to power is to make oneself indispensable.

Vela knew this well. She had to sell the dream big.

She would weaponize Arasaka's fear of death—and give them what they craved.

She might not be able to make you young again with one injection—but a bit of T-virus derivative to smooth wrinkles, remove age spots, lift spirits, and extend life inch by inch? That was doable.

The mark of leadership is to exaggerate your power.

Now, Vela unleashed her persuasion technique.

...

One hour later.

Beneath a pavilion deep in the cherry grove, beside a massive unfolded holographic screen—

"Cough cough..."

The orange glow from the pavilion's image projector faded from her eyes. Vela coughed and took the straight-lipped teacup Goro Takemura offered, drinking in large gulps to soothe her throat.

She swore she had never spoken this much in her life—her throat felt scorched.

But fortunately—

"Look, Shintaro," Saburo's voice trembled with excitent.

The holographic screen in front of him was showing a subject—one of the infected who had been attacked by Militech operatives. After sustaining dozens of injuries, the subject resurrected and attacked the tech staff.

"Yes, such overwhelming vitality! This is exactly what I need."

Vela tid her follow-up perfectly: "That body was ultimately destroyed by Militech operatives, but one of them was infected. I've captured and transferred that specin to Tokyo."

"Excellent. Vela, I want you to begin full-scale research imdiately. The Sonnentreppe Project is hereby removed from Tokyo University's academic initiative, locked under top-level clearance. Vela—do not disappoint ."

"Your will, Lord Saburo."

Hand to chest, Vela lowered her gaze. Within her eyes danced a multitude of calculations.

Throwing her full weight behind it or dragging her heels—neither was optimal.

Now then… which slice of this cake should she feed him first?