Chapter 119: Damn, This Rice Bowl’s Delicious!

Explosive.

That was the only word that fit.

Night's Ember wasn't just busy—it was blazing. The energy inside the bar was like a live wire running through the veins of Night City.

The combo of Neo, the Edgerunner squad, and the official return of Johnny Silverhand hit like a megaton nuke. In one night, Night's Ember became the headline of Kabuki, maybe even the entire Watson district.

Every merc and fixer worth a damn showed up. Even the ones too proud to queue elbowed their way in, sparks flying—literally.

A fistfight broke out near the entrance. Someone almost drew a gun.

And then David stepped in.

"Enough!" His voice cut through the noise like a blade. He grabbed both troublemakers by the collars, marched them out, and dumped them on the street. Then he turned, facing the restless crowd under the flicker of neon and smoke.

"No rules, no city," he said, voice calm but commanding. "Listen up—Night's Ember doesn't judge who you are or where you're from. You got eddies, you drink. That's it. But if you wanna drink here, you follow the rules."

The crowd quieted, watching.

"We do this in order," David continued. "You queue, you wait, you get in. Anyone tries to cut the line—out. Anyone starts a fight—both out. You're mercs, not monkeys. Don't make me babysit."

That earned a few chuckles, a few nods.

Just like that, the tension bled out of the air.

At eighteen, David Martinez no longer looked like the nervous rookie who'd once carried a broken Sandevistan. Tonight, he stood like a real Edgerunner—steady, sharp, unflinching.

...

Inside, the bar was packed wall to wall.

Jackie Welles moved through the crowd like a storm in human form, clapping backs, trading shots, calling names. "Hey, choom! Haven't seen you since Pacifica!"

Every handshake was a deal, every grin a connection.

On both flanks, Maine and Dorio stood guard, eyes scanning the mass of mercs and gangsters. No scav, no corpo rat, no one stupid enough to test their patience lasted long.

And then—

The lights dropped.

In an instant, music cut. Conversations stopped. A hush swept through Night's Ember.

Then the lights surged back to life—

—and Johnny Silverhand stood on stage.

For one heartbeat, nobody breathed.

Then chaos exploded.

"Holy shit!"

"Johnny! That's Johnny Silverhand!"

"SAMURAI IS BACK!"

"I'm crying—he's real!"

The roar was deafening. The floor shook with boots and voices.

Johnny, who usually despised crowds, just stood there for a long moment, eyes half-closed.

He had spent half a century trapped in digital silence, longing for noise—the human kind. And now, standing in this neon storm of cheers, he almost laughed.

When he finally spoke, his voice boomed across the bar, carried through the data systems Lucy had tailored for him—her tech bending light and code until his tone became real.

"Hey, Night City."

The bar froze.

Johnny tilted his head, his grin old and wicked. "Yeah. It's me."

The crowd erupted.

"I missed you, you chrome-plated bastards," he said. "Didn't think I'd get another encore, but here we are."

He raised a digital hand toward the ceiling.

"This one's for all of you—for Samurai, for Night's Ember, for the ones who burned and the ones still burning."

He slammed his fist down on the mic stand.

"Now give me some fucking noise!"

The guitar ripped through the air like a sonic blade.

Bass and synth followed, fast and dirty, and Johnny's voice—half human, half data—roared through every wall.

The stage lights bled red and gold, smoke machines belching clouds that glowed like molten ash.

Night's Ember became a furnace.

...

Up in the control room, things were no quieter.

Lucy sat at the console, eyes scanning holographic panels. Rebecca lounged beside her with a half-empty bottle, legs swinging, while Neo leaned between them, watching the chaos below.

Johnny's performance thundered through the glass, shaking their floor.

"Man," Neo muttered with a grin. "The guy still has it."

Rebecca smirked. "You sound jealous, boss."

He chuckled. "Just impressed."

Then he glanced between them, eyes narrowing. "By the way… when did you two start getting along this well?"

Rebecca shot him a look. "Not everyone ignores their girls to go conquer the world, you know. We talked. Worked some things out."

Lucy didn't even look up. "Conclusion: she finally accepted I'm the senior partner."

Rebecca nearly choked. "Senior what?!"

Lucy's calm tone didn't change. "We met first. I moved in first. I did everything first. I'm number one, you're number two. Hierarchically sound."

Rebecca's jaw tightened. "You—! That doesn't give you rights!"

"It absolutely does," Lucy said smoothly.

Rebecca spun toward Neo, ready to drag him into the argument. "Hey! Back me up here!"

But Neo had already leaned back, eyes closed, pretending to meditate.

Rebecca glared. "You're dead next time we're alone," she muttered.

He smiled faintly. "Looking forward to it."

...

Meanwhile, miles away, in the sterile, towering fortress of Arasaka Tower—the air was nothing like Kabuki's. No noise, no warmth. Only silence and power.

Arasaka Saburo's death had finally cemented his son's position.

Arasaka Yorinobu sat at the head of the obsidian table, eyes cold and sharp.

Around him, department heads whispered reports about market dips, research losses, political friction. None of them dared to raise their voice.

"Enough," Yorinobu said. "I've heard your excuses. But there's one thing I don't understand."

He leaned forward slightly. "Who authorized the ten-percent reduction in humanitarian funding this quarter?"

The room went dead silent.

Executives exchanged panicked looks, no one brave enough to answer.

Then—

Click. Click. Click.

High heels struck the marble floor outside the chamber. A rhythmic echo.

A moment later, the doors opened.

A tall woman walked in, calm, composed, radiating control.

"I did," she said. "I ordered the cuts."

Yorinobu blinked, startled.

The woman's voice was steady, elegant, almost cold.

"The reason's simple. Arasaka's stock has been bleeding. Militech's steady. Kang Tao's gaining ground. Biotech and NightCorp are circling like vultures. The empire's in decline, brother. Time to cut the fat before we starve."

Her gaze met his. "Unless you think your little charity stunts are worth sinking the ship for?"

Yorinobu rose slowly, disbelief washing across his face.

"H-Hanako?" he stammered.

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