Chapter Text
The life of Yorinobu Arasaka was one that most would kill for—billionaire, CEO, king of the corpo jungle. The kind of man who didn’t just sit at the top of the food chain; he owned the food chain. His future had been carved in marble by Saburo Arasaka himself, and everyone around him knew it. Some worshipped him like a god. Others feared him like one. Even his sister, sharp and cold as she was, had learned to bow.
And yet, Yorinobu Arasaka was fucking miserable.
It hadn’t always been that way. Once, there’d been a moment—a flash of possibility. He’d been eighteen when his father called him into that sterile, suffocating office and laid out the family’s grand design. A future built not on progress, but on conquest. Saburo had called it legacy. Yorinobu had recognized it for what it was: an empire painted in blood, another dynasty clinging to the rusted corpse of history.
He’d laughed at first. Thought it was some kind of sick joke.
It wasn’t.
When the truth landed, it hit like a knife between the ribs. He had argued, shouted, begged his father to change course, to leave the past where it belonged. But Saburo Arasaka didn’t bend. So Yorinobu walked away—out the door and straight into rebellion, burning with righteous fury.
That had been his first mistake.
You couldn’t tear down a monster like Arasaka from the outside. It was too big, too old, too good at surviving. No matter how hard he fought, every strike barely left a scratch. So, after years of beating his fists against the iron wall, he’d come crawling back. He’d bowed his head. He’d whispered apologies he didn’t mean. He could still remember how his father’s cold, withered face had crumpled with joy. That memory haunted him more than any insult ever could.
For fifty years, Yorinobu played the good son. Dutiful. Obedient. Dead inside. The empire he wanted to burn, he helped expand. And slowly, methodically, he climbed.
Two obstacles had always stood between him and the crown—his sister, whom he swore he’d free, and his niece, a wildcard he barely understood. But neither posed real danger. His father, after all, valued blood above all.
It wasn’t until one night—one of Saburo’s usual power games—that Yorinobu saw the truth. He’d overheard the fight: his niece challenging Saburo’s rule, daring to propose something new. The old man’s response had been ice-cold, a death sentence without bullets. He would rather see the company burn than let her vision shape it.
That was the night Yorinobu had his second revelation.
Burning Arasaka to the ground would be too easy. Too clean. His father’s empire would simply rise again, in a new suit, under a new name. The cycle would continue. No, if he wanted revenge—the kind that would really hurt—he’d have to do something worse.
He’d take everything Saburo valued.
He’d gut the company from the inside.
He’d twist it into something his father would despise.
And yet, the old bastard refused to die.
Yorinobu sighed, rolling the weight of that truth over and over in his mind, the corners of his mouth twitching downward. His fingers tightened absently around the soft fabric of an Adam Smasher plushie resting in his lap.
What? They were popular.
He leaned back in his chair, plucking a file from his desk—one of the many codenamed operations he had set in motion for the day his father finally passed. LEWIS AND CLARK. He flipped through the pages, his lips curling into a smirk, but before he could fully lose himself in the plans, there was a knock at the door.
“Enter,” he called, sliding the file out of sight.
The door swung open, and his sister strolled inside, regal as ever.
“Ah, Sister.” He set the plushie aside—slowly, just to watch the way her eye twitched. “What can I do for you?”
Her gaze flickered to the stuffed toy, a sigh already escaping her lips. “Why do you still have that, Brother?”
“It’s cute,” he replied, picking it up again. With a deliberately awful impression of Smasher’s voice, he made the plushie shake its stubby little fists. “Grrr, I’m Adam Smasher. I’m gonna beat the fuck out of your nightmares!”
From the hallway, the real Adam Smasher rumbled, “NIGHTMARES GOT LOTS OF ARROGANT MEAT.”
“See?” Yorinobu said with a smirk.
Hanako pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can you not?”
Now Yorinobu’s smirk turned downright evil. He cleared his throat, then made the plushie waddle like a drunken tank . “Grrr, I’m Adam Smasher, and I can’t write poetry to save my life. All I can do is send shoddily wrapped Valentine’s gifts and try not to act like a nerdy high schooler around Michiko Arasaka.”
From the hallway:
“ HOW THE FUCK DID YOU KNOW THAT?! ”
Yorinobu grinned. “You never delete your NET history, Smasher. You just blow up the computer.”
“WELL YEAH, WHAT ELSE ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO DO? ! ”
Hanako watched the exchange unfold with undisguised horror. “How you… get along with that… thing … is beyond me.”
Yorinobu simply hugged the plushie closer. “Oh, it’s quite easy. You just have to know which buttons to push.”
“There are no ‘right buttons’.”
“What can I say? I have that magic touch.”
More like he and Adam were secret Johnny Silverhand fans who blasted his music behind closed doors. It was hard not to be chooms after an incident years ago—when a Militech assassin had come gunning for Yorinobu, and Adam had stormed in at just the right moment. The two of them had been blaring Johnny’s Top Five at the exact same time.
A moment of unspoken understanding had passed between them.
From then on, it was history.
“Did you come to complain about my highly professional relationship with my bodyguard?” Yorinobu inquired, resting his chin on his hand.
Hanako sighed. “No. The Tanaka family has invited you for dinner.”
Yorinobu groaned and promptly face-desked.
“That was my reaction as well.”
“What do they want this time?” he mumbled against the desk before sitting up and rubbing his temple. “Is it the Cyberskeleton prototype? I told them—no one can handle that thing. Maybe Adam. And if they’re still sniffing around for Subject 13, I swear—”
“I believe it to be both, Brother.”
“Damn it!” Yorinobu snarled, running a hand through his hair. “You can go, Sister. Send Adam in.”
Hanako didn’t argue, merely giving him a knowing look before stepping out. A few seconds later, Adam Smasher’s massive frame filled the doorway.
The cyborg tilted his head. “DOES YOUR SISTER THINK YOU’RE GAY FOR ME?”
Yorinobu blinked. Then stared. “Run that by me again.”
“SHE SAID HER ONLY REQUEST WAS THAT ‘IT BE PAINLESS.’” Adam folded his arms. “WHICH IS WEIRD, ‘CAUSE IF ANYTHING, YOU’D PROBABLY TOP.”
Yorinobu buried his face in his hands. “She thinks I’m ordering you to kill me, you absolute tin can.”
“OH.” Adam considered that for a moment. Then shrugged. “YOU’RE LITERALLY THE ONLY MEAT I REFUSE TO KILL. SHE KNOWS THAT, RIGHT?”
“No.”
“DAMN.”
A pause.
“HEY, ISN’T SUBJECT 13 HERE? IN NIGHT CITY?” Adam asked, his tone a little too casual.
Yorinobu shot him a sharp glare. “You know that. I know that. No one else should know that.”
“GOTCHA,” Adam rumbled. “SO, WHAT’S THIS DINNER THING?”
“Formal dinner,” Yorinobu corrected. “Tanaka is going to beg for more funding, ask for test subjects, and conveniently leave out how every attempt at piloting the Cyberskeleton ends with the poor bastard going Cyberpsycho.”
Adam grinned, his chrome teeth gleaming. “OOH, MORE CRAZY MEAT FOR ME TO RIP APART.” He actually sounded excited.
“I’m so glad one of us is enjoying this,” Yorinobu said dryly, standing up. “If Tanaka can’t get a working pilot, I’m putting him into the damn thing next.”
With that, he grabbed the Adam Smasher plushie, gave it one last reassuring squeeze, and strode off to prepare for the inevitable headache that awaited him.
*****
The dinner unfolded in the lavish Tanaka mansion in North Oak, the table adorned with plates of natural meats and expertly prepared rice—an extravagant spread that even Yorinobu had to admit was impressive. Conversation remained polite, almost tediously so, and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to hope that the Two Headaches wouldn’t rear their ugly heads tonight.
That hope was shattered when Tanaka finally spoke.
“Arasaka-sama, my son has brought something to my attention regarding the Academy,” Tanaka said, setting his chopsticks down with deliberate care.
Yorinobu glanced up from his rice, taking a measured sip of his sake before responding. “Is the school functioning properly? Does it require additional funding?” His tone was neutral, but beneath it lay genuine concern—education, after all, was one of the few things he truly valued.
Tanaka exhaled slowly. “I’m afraid there has been a lapse in its… admission policy.”
Yorinobu’s brow arched slightly. “Meaning?”
“There’s gutter trash in the school!” Katsuo Tanaka, his host’s son, suddenly blurted out, his face twisted with barely contained fury. “I have to share a class with a worthless piece of shit— ”
“SON!”
Tanaka’s voice cracked through the air like a whip, his hand twitching on the table. Yorinobu resisted the urge to press the Summon Adam button on his belt. Maybe it was just a twitch. Maybe.
There were few lessons from his father that Yorinobu actually held onto, but one of them stood strong:
Never strike your family.
Another?
Hate those who do.
Tanaka recovered quickly, his voice smooth but laced with tension. “A thousand apologies, Arasaka-sama, but my son is correct. There is a… lower-class individual enrolled in the Academy.”
Now that caught Yorinobu’s interest. Admission to the Academy was notoriously difficult. Expensive neural implants, memory augmentation, and elite tutoring were prerequisites, not luxuries. No one without significant financial backing made it past the entrance exams.
“I see…” Yorinobu murmured.
“And he’s somehow at the top of the class!” Katsuo continued, his tantrum bubbling over. “I bet his mom is sucking off the Headmaster for those grades!”
The entire room went deathly silent.
Yorinobu exhaled slowly through his nose. Then, calmly, he turned to the boy.
“Are you implying that the Headmaster my father personally selected is so compromised by the appeal of sex that he would lower the standards of the Academy?”
Katsuo’s face drained of all color, his mouth opening and closing uselessly. But Yorinobu wasn’t watching him.
He was watching Tanaka.
The man’s face was rigid, his jaw clenched so tightly it was a wonder his teeth hadn’t shattered. And his hand was still twitching.
Yorinobu made a mental note to look into that later.
Tanaka finally spoke, his voice carefully controlled. “Arasaka-sama, what my son meant to say is that he suspects foul play may be involved.”
Yorinobu leaned back slightly, expression unreadable. “As I said, the Headmaster was selected by my father specifically for his complete lack of interest in material wealth. And I can assure you, he is equally disinterested in sex.” He let that sink in before continuing, “However, I will… personally investigate this matter.”
The meal resumed in uncomfortable silence.
Then Tanaka decided to push his luck.
“Arasaka-sama… I regret to inform you that we have still been unable to locate Subject 13.”
Yorinobu’s grip on his chopsticks tightened just enough to almost snap them.
Fuzakenna.
*****
Yorinobu stormed out of the Tanaka mansion, his rage barely contained beneath his meticulously composed exterior. His jaw clenched as he strode toward his waiting AV, the echoes of the slap he had anticipated ringing through his earpiece. The bug he had planted earlier captured everything—the sharp crack of flesh against flesh, the strangled gasp, the inevitable screaming match that followed.
His fingers twitched over the sleek panel on his belt, and before he could stop himself—
‘Calling: Adam Smasher.’
Oh, shit.
Adam:
HEY, YOYO, WHAT’S UP?
Yorinobu:
My auto-caller — don’t call me that ever again —activated over my anger. Apologies.
Adam:
GEEZ, WHAT SET YOU OFF?
Yorinobu:
Tanaka’s family life.
Adam:
SHIT, FOR REAL?
Yorinobu:
I can HEAR him.
Adam: YOU WANT ME TO BEAT HIS MEAT?
Yorinobu doubled over, laughing so hard he had to brace himself against the AV’s door.
Adam:
YORI?
Yorinobu:
Sorry. Just... think about what you just said.
Adam: I KNOW WHAT I SAID, I GREW UP IN THE EARLY 2000’S LIKE A REAL BOY. WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?
The laughter faded, and Yorinobu exhaled.
Yorinobu:
Unfortunately, I cannot take such an action. Father would veto it. He doesn’t care what his executives do in their off hours.
Adam:
EVEN THIS KIND OF SHIT?
Yorinobu: Even this. He’ll be disappointed, but he won’t act.
A pause.
Adam:
SO WHAT SET THE KID OFF?
Yorinobu:
He’s being outperformed at the Academy.
Adam:
OH GREAT. MY FUTURE HANDLERS ARE LITTLE SHITS. COMPLAINING TO THE CEO THAT HIS DADDY’S MONEY CAN’T BUY A BRAIN?
Yorinobu:
He’s not being upstaged by one of his peers.
Adam:
SO WHAT’S THE PROBLEM?
Yorinobu: He’s getting schooled by a lower-class kid.
Silence.
Adam:
WHAT?
Yorinobu: I’m pulling up the class registry now… ah. Found him. David Martinez…
He froze.
Adam:
EH?
Yorinobu: Top of the class. No cyber-enhancements to boost intelligence. Runs on bargain-bin chrome.
That alone was impressive. But as Yorinobu dug deeper into the file, he felt something shift.
David Martinez:
— Never failed an assignment.
— Never late.
— Few infractions, mostly for not wearing his uniform. Reason?
“In the wash.”
— Father?
Absent.
— Mother?
EMT.
Yorinobu blinked. An EMT. And still able to put her son through his Academy?
Only one explanation made sense: black-market cyberwar.
He should’ve felt disgusted. Instead, he felt… intrigued.
Yorinobu: I like this kid.
He ended the call and dialed the Academy’s headmaster.
The response was groggy and irritable at first.
Headmaster:
Ugh, who’s calling at this hour—A-Arasaka-sama!
Yorinobu:
Good evening, Headmaster. I have inquiries about a student: David Martinez.
Headmaster:
I assure you, despite his status, he—
Yorinobu: I am very impressed.
A stunned pause.
Headmaster:
You… are?
Yorinobu:
Indeed. His grades—are they accurate?
Headmaster:
Yes, sir.
Yorinobu:
Exceptional. Remarkable, even. Especially considering his background.
Headmaster:
What would you like me to do?
Yorinobu:
How much has his tuition cost?
Headmaster:
He has been enrolled since High School—this is Semester 7.
Yorinobu: I will cover his tuition. Retroactively.
A confirmation pinged. 800,000 eddies wired directly to the Academy. A drop in the ocean for Yorinobu.
Yorinobu: Refund his mother. Tell her that ‘Rino’ has paid for his tuition… and is watching him with great interest.
Before the headmaster could respond, Yorinobu ended the call.
He smirked. Let’s see how this kid plays his hand.
A message flashed across his holo-display.
Adam:
HERE’S THE PIC OF DAVID MARTINEZ.
Yorinobu:
Hm. Scrappy kid.
Adam:
RAN INTO HIM A COUPLE TIMES. SAID MY CHROME WAS NOVA. I DON’T THINK HE ACTUALLY RECOGNIZES ME THOUGH.
Yorinobu:
And?
Adam:
HE’S GOT GUTS. DOES WHAT IT TAKES TO MOVE UP. I LIKE THAT.
Yorinobu:
Coming from you, that’s practically a glowing endorsement.
Adam:
SO… ASSET OR
ASSET
?
Yorinobu: Asset
.
Adam:
GOOD. HATE TO HAVE TO SPLIT HIM OPEN.
Yorinobu: We’ll see where he lands.
Then Adam sent another message.
Adam:
GOT MY HANDS ON SOME OF JOHNNY’S UNRELEASED TRACKS FROM ROGUE. WANT ME TO SWING BY?
Yorinobu: Oh hell yes.