Chapter 120: Hanako Arrives in Night City — Yorinobu’s in Deep Trouble!

"Ha… Hanako?"

Yorinobu Arasaka froze mid-sentence, every word dying in his throat. He sat rigid in the high-backed chair at the head of the obsidian conference table, staring in disbelief as the tall, elegant woman strode into the boardroom like it was her own.

Hanako Arasaka.

His sister. His mirror. His worst possible visitor.

The quiet hum of the city skyline behind them seemed to fade. The executives flanking the table—some of Arasaka's most senior division heads—shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

No one dared breathe too loudly.

Hanako's heels clicked against the polished floor with soft, deliberate rhythm. She moved with the same composed grace her father had once wielded like a blade. She took a seat near the center of the room, crossing one leg over the other, and smiled faintly at her brother.

And just like that, the room's balance of power shifted.

The air itself seemed to bow.

The executives who had, moments earlier, been relaxed and smug under Yorinobu's reign now sat stiff-backed, eyes cast down. Because they knew—every one of them knew—what this meant.

Yorinobu might have been the reformer, the rebel, the son who sought to modernize Arasaka's empire. But Hanako?

Hanako was Saburo's true heir.

Cold, brilliant, utterly devoted to the Arasaka legacy.

A woman born of discipline and forged in fire.

Saburo in every way that mattered.

And worse—she was ruthless.

Where Yorinobu played at politics, Hanako played at war.

To cross her was to invite a quiet, merciless extinction.

She sat there now, back straight, gaze calm, and smiled again—just enough to make Yorinobu sweat.

"What's wrong, brother?" she said softly. "You don't look happy to see me. Or… am I not welcome in your city?"

Yorinobu blinked hard, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "No, no, of course you're welcome. I'm just… surprised. You didn't say you were coming."

Hanako's tone was almost sweet. "Father died here, didn't he? Should I not come to pay my respects?"

Her smile sharpened. "Or is it that you think I came to take something from you?"

Yorinobu chuckled dryly, hands open in mock surrender. "Hanako, please. Don't joke like that. Of course you can be here. We're family. Arasaka belongs to all of us."

"Good." She nodded once. "Then we understand each other."

She rose gracefully. "It's been a long trip. I'll rest for now. We can speak again tomorrow, brother."

He forced another smile. "Of course. Rest well, Hanako."

And with that, she turned and left, the echo of her heels receding into the hall.

As soon as the doors slid shut, Yorinobu's face went cold.

The smile vanished. His jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached.

The room fell into a silence so deep it hurt.

Not one of the executives dared move.

Finally, he exhaled through his nose, voice low and icy. "Meeting's over. Get out."

They left in a hurry, practically tripping over each other in their rush for the door.

Once the last one was gone, Yorinobu muttered, "Lock the doors. Activate S-class anti-surveillance."

A smooth mechanical voice responded instantly.

"Biometric authentication confirmed. Doors sealed. S-class countermeasures engaged."

The windows darkened automatically, turning the room into a shadowed vault.

Then a floating holographic display flickered to life in front of him—Night City's newsfeed.

A familiar voice boomed cheerily from the projection.

"Hey hey, choombas! It's your favorite news junkie—Stan here! Bringing you today's top hits from the wild, wild streets of Night City!"

Yorinobu rubbed at his temples. He'd never had the patience for this low-grade media chatter, but sometimes the street's noise told him more than corporate reports ever could.

Stan continued, his voice dripping with sarcastic enthusiasm.

"Let's start with the usual—gang wars! Because of course, they never stop. Word is, things are getting spicy out in Pacifica! The Voodoo Boys and the Animals are clawing each other's chrome off again! Who's surprised? Not me."

Yorinobu frowned. Pointless.

Stan went on, rapid-fire.

"Sixth Street's losing ground in their smuggling racket—rumor says they're aiming at the Valentinos next. Oh, and over in Neon Street, Tiger Claws are living their best lives. Smooth, stable, filthy rich—typical!"

"Now," Stan said, lowering his voice like he was about to tell a ghost story, "here's the fun part."

He smirked at the camera. "Everyone's favorite outskirt gang—the NightWalkers—remember them? Those scav-loving psychos kicked out from Aldecaldo territory? Yeah, they're gone. Wiped out. Completely. Word is, the Aldecaldos did the job themselves."

He leaned in.

"But here's the kicker. The Aldecaldos? They've been working real close with a certain someone. You might've heard the name. The new legend of Night City—Neo."

That made Yorinobu look up.

Stan grinned wider. "So tell me, chooms, what's the connection between Neo and the fall of the Night Wraiths? A coincidence? I think not!"

"Anyway," he continued, "on to tonight's big story—the real headline!"

The holographic projection zoomed in on the glowing skyline of Kabuki, alive with color and chaos.

"Drum roll, please—because tonight, something huge just dropped!"

Stan's grin turned manic.

"The Night's Ember Bar, founded by Neo and the Edgerunner Crew, has officially opened its doors! And if that wasn't crazy enough—" he leaned closer to the camera, voice nearly cracking with excitement, "—they brought back Johnny Silverhand!"

The holographic feed paused on an image: the bar's stage lit in crimson light, the legendary rocker's spectral figure gripping a guitar, caught mid-scream.

Stan's voice rang out one more time:

"Yeah, you heard me right! Johnny. Freaking. Silverhand. Alive—or close enough!"

...

Yorinobu shot to his feet. The chair slammed back into the wall.

His breath hitched, eyes wide, every thought short-circuiting.

"Johnny… Silverhand?" he whispered.

For a moment, the name alone seemed to shake the air.

He turned to the screen, voice rising. "Relic. The Relic contained Silverhand's engram?"

It was impossible.

He'd known the what of the Relic project—immortality in data, the containment of consciousness—but never its who. His theft of the prototype years ago had been symbolic rebellion, not scientific curiosity.

He'd stolen it to spit in Saburo's face.

To destroy the old man's dream.

But now—

Now that same Relic had given life back to his father's nemesis.

Johnny Silverhand.

The ghost who had blown apart Arasaka Tower fifty years ago.

The rebel who had tried—and failed—to burn their empire down.

And Neo had brought him back.

Yorinobu's hand curled into a trembling fist.

"What the hell have you done," he muttered, staring at the frozen image of Johnny's spectral grin.

For the first time in years, the heir of Arasaka felt something he hadn't since childhood.

Fear.

Because Night City had always been built on ghosts, and now one of them had returned to finish what he started.