NOVEL NEXT Chapter 50
Asuka’s feet clicked against the polished marble floors of Konpeki Plaza’s lobby, her chrome legs gleaming under the harsh, immaculate lighting. She was used to the opulence of this place by now—the pristine surfaces, the whispers of money and power that clung to every inch of it. She felt out of place yet untouchable, an enigma in neon pink amidst the high-class drones of Arasaka. The ever-watchful guards eyed her as she stepped into the elevator.
Hanako had called her—personally. Asuka’s heart had skipped a beat when she’d gotten the message. She figured it would be another of those nights. The quiet luxury, the touch of silk sheets, and Hanako's gentle eyes hiding dark secrets that Asuka couldn’t quite piece together. She found herself craving those moments, even if she was wary of their consequences.
When the elevator door slid open at the top floor, her breath caught. The penthouse looked just as she remembered, but it was not empty. Yorinobu stood near the bar, laughing in a way that wasn't entirely fake. Across from him, Hanako smiled—truly smiled—her eyes shimmering with something that seemed almost... genuine.
And then there was Adam Smasher. Looming, a hulking mass of metal and deadliness by the window, his expression unreadable beneath that monstrous visage.
Hanako looked up as Asuka entered. Her eyes lit up, and she motioned Asuka closer, patting the spot beside her on the plush, velvet sofa.
"Asuka-chan, come, sit," she purred, her voice smooth as ever. Hanako’s arm snaked around Asuka's waist as she pulled her down into the seat next to her. The touch, gentle yet possessive, sent a jolt down Asuka's spine.
Yorinobu shot her a glance, his eyes curious and appraising before he looked back to his sister, their conversation continuing in rapid Japanese. Asuka caught fragments. Something about "old man" and "control." Hanako's tone changed, her words tinged with something like nostalgia—or perhaps sadness. Asuka knew enough Japanese to make out phrases here and there.
"Father... already lived long enough..." Hanako murmured. She leaned against Asuka slightly, her fingers drawing absent patterns on Asuka's thigh, a ghost of a touch. Her voice held something like regret, laced with determination.
Yorinobu chuckled darkly. "Thinks he controls us forever..." The words were cynical, but his smile at his sister was genuine, a rare moment where the stoic façade slipped. They were talking of their father, Saburo, the old man who cast a long, cold shadow over them both. Asuka pieced together enough to understand they were planning something—a desire for freedom perhaps, from that shadow.
But then her gaze was pulled away by a heavy presence. Smasher, his red optics fixed on her. She swallowed, meeting the infamous cyborg's gaze. There was something strange there—not just menace, but something else. Amusement? Curiosity?
“You wanna take a walk, kid?” Smasher's voice was a rasp of metal grinding over metal. It was a statement more than a question. Asuka blinked, and Hanako loosened her grip, her eyes meeting Asuka's for a moment, a slight nod—almost as if she trusted Smasher.
“Sure,” Asuka replied, her voice casual, masking her unease. She pushed herself up, her chrome legs glinting under the warm penthouse lights.
The massive double doors closed behind them with a whisper. Adam led her down the hall, his steps heavy, reverberating through the silence of the corridor. Asuka kept her face neutral, though her mind spun. What the hell did Adam Smasher of all people want to say to her?
Finally, they stopped near a broad window overlooking the sprawling city lights of Night City. He turned to face her, his mechanical face inscrutable. Then, in a tone much softer than she expected from a literal death machine, he spoke.
"You got guts, kid," Smasher grumbled. "Makin' your way up here, with them. Reminds me a bit of myself." He paused, his optics narrowing slightly.
Asuka smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Really? I remind you of yourself?" She was skeptical but kept her tone light.
He let out a rasp that was the closest thing to a laugh she could imagine coming from him. “Not all of it’s good, you know. You’re walkin' a fine line. Think you know how this game works? The corpo world ain't like Night City. It eats ya alive slower—more polite-like. But the end’s the same.”
The warning hung heavy between them, surprising in its directness. Asuka shifted, crossing her arms over her chest. "What's this, Smasher? You giving me career advice?"
He shrugged, the servos in his shoulders whirring. “Call it what you want. Just thought you oughta know. You're useful to them now. But everyone’s got an expiry date. Even you and me. And even them.”
She studied his face for a moment, the hardened metal, the glint of red optics, trying to decipher if there was something more behind this. Despite herself, a hint of a smile tugged at her lips. There was a strange honesty here—something she hadn’t expected. Maybe Smasher was a monster, but monsters could understand each other in ways that the pristine and clean never could.
"Thanks, Smasher. I'll keep that in mind," she said. Her voice was even, but her eyes were sharp.
He nodded, an almost imperceptible gesture. “Good. Now let’s get back. Don’t keep the princess waitin'.” There was a sardonic edge to his words, but it lacked malice.
As they made their way back, Asuka's thoughts churned. Hanako and Yorinobu were plotting against their father, that much was clear. And Adam Smasher, a symbol of Arasaka's iron-fisted power, was giving her advice? It was an unexpected glimpse into the layers of complexity around the Arasaka family—a web of ambition, power, and strange alliances.
Back in the penthouse, Hanako’s eyes brightened when she saw her re-enter, her hand immediately reaching out to draw Asuka back to her side. Yorinobu shot her a knowing smile, something conspiratorial and amused lingering there.
Asuka settled back beside Hanako, the plush cushion under her a stark contrast to the tension knotting in her stomach. Hanako slid her hand back around Asuka’s waist, pulling her close, her touch almost absent-minded as she focused her gaze on Yorinobu. They resumed their conversation, still in Japanese—fast, flowing syllables that slipped by Asuka, though not entirely unnoticed.
She did her best to remain composed, leaning into Hanako while her ears strained to catch what was being said. Yorinobu spoke, his tone taking on a note of skepticism, his eyes flicking towards Asuka briefly. She caught a few words, the edge of his voice, “…the same potential as Adam…?”
Asuka’s heart thumped. Were they talking about her?
Hanako shifted, her fingers brushing across Asuka’s side almost reassuringly. Her voice was soft but firm, conviction clear even if Asuka couldn't understand every word. “...I’m sure… has even more potential,” she said. Her words were sharp in contrast to her touch, which remained gentle.
The sudden stiffness from across the room made Asuka’s eyes flicker towards Smasher. His mechanical form stood by the window, his expression unreadable, but there was a tension in the way he held himself now. An electric hum filled the silence left by Hanako’s statement—a hum that only Asuka seemed to feel, even as Smasher’s red optics remained fixed on the view outside. He did not react, not outwardly. He didn't challenge Hanako, didn't even turn to look, but the set of his shoulders told her enough.
The air felt thick between them, a silent competition where Asuka had no idea she was even a participant until now.
More potential than Adam Smasher. The thought gnawed at her. Asuka wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or a death sentence. Being compared to that machine was no light thing—Smasher was brutal, unfeeling, and utterly loyal to Arasaka. He’d become synonymous with violence, a horror story mothers whispered to keep their kids in line. Was that what Hanako saw in her? Or worse, wanted from her?
Hanako leaned closer, her lips brushing the shell of Asuka’s ear. Her voice softened, almost as if the warmth in her words could counteract the tension the conversation had stirred. “Don’t worry, Asuka-chan. You’re special,” she whispered, her fingers curling around Asuka’s, giving a gentle squeeze.
Asuka kept her eyes on Yorinobu, who watched them both with that guarded curiosity. His lips twisted, the smallest smirk playing at the edge of his mouth, something close to satisfaction. Whatever they were plotting, Yorinobu clearly found amusement in it, perhaps in how Hanako, always so reserved, seemed to fawn over her.
The unsettling thought was how much like a pawn she felt now—something Hanako and Yorinobu discussed like a weapon to be forged and wielded. And Smasher? He might not have said anything, but Asuka could tell: he was a bit annoyed at the idea of someone being better than him.
The tension between them all hung heavy in the room—an intricate web of power dynamics, secret conversations, and ambitions laid bare in whispered Japanese words. Asuka leaned back slightly, her free hand running down her chrome leg, the sensation grounding her, reminding her of her own agency.
She glanced back at Smasher. His optics flickered towards her for just a second, unreadable, but the challenge in the air was palpable. It was as if the gauntlet had been thrown down, without a word spoken, and now it was up to her whether to pick it up or leave it lying there.
As Yorinobu and Hanako finished their conversation, the mood in the penthouse shifted. The relaxed smiles disappeared, and the Arasaka heirs returned to their usual, composed selves. Yorinobu gave a curt nod to Hanako before turning on his heel, making for the exit with Adam in tow.
Before Adam left, however, he paused, his massive form blocking the doorway. He turned his head slightly, the sound of mechanical parts grinding subtly audible in the quiet room. His optics bore into Asuka, red as ever, though there was something almost amused about his tone as he spoke.
"Hey, kid," he began, his voice rumbling, “I heard you were a fan of… of…”
He paused, seemingly struggling to remember. Asuka arched an eyebrow, a sly grin tugging at her lips. "Johnny Silverhand," she supplied, her voice dripping with mock patience.
“Right,” Smasher grunted, almost like he was offended she had helped him. “Johnny. That’s the one.” With a metallic flourish, he pulled something from behind his back—a gleaming Malorian Arms 3516, unmistakably Johnny's iconic gun. He spun it in his massive hand once, and before Asuka could react, he tossed it through the air toward her.
“Catch,” he added, the corners of his metal lips turning up just slightly. Asuka barely had time to register what he'd called her before her hands shot out, catching the heavy piece of hardware mid-air. She looked down at the familiar weapon in her hands, her fingers curling around the grip, the chrome catching the penthouse's ambient light.
Johnny’s pistol. The irony wasn't lost on her—Smasher, of all people, giving her something so steeped in anti-corporate rebellion. Was it a taunt, a test, or just his twisted idea of humor? Maybe all three.
Adam turned, lumbering after Yorinobu without another word. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Asuka alone with Hanako. She looked at the weapon, admiring its weight, its worn-but-deadly sheen, and then turned towards Hanako, her blue eyes glinting with mischief.
“So…” she said, holding the gun up, examining it with a thoughtful expression. “Think your Arasaka engineers could, you know… make it pink?” She tilted her head, a wicked grin curling on her lips. “And maybe make it a little more powerful while they're at it? Like, 'sends a fuckin' AV outta the sky' powerful?”
Hanako's eyes widened for just a second before a gentle, knowing smile curved her lips. She tilted her head, her dark hair cascading over her shoulder as she looked at Asuka with a mix of amusement and fondness.
“You want us to turn a piece of anti-corporate memorabilia into… something pink?” Hanako's voice carried a playful lilt, clearly entertained by Asuka's request. “I believe that could be arranged, Asuka-chan. I’ll have the engineers ensure it matches your… unique aesthetic.”
Asuka beamed, the playful defiance bright in her eyes. “Hell yeah. Just think of it—Johnny’s pistol, now with a chrome pink finish. Would piss him off something fierce,” she mused aloud, her grin widening. The thought of a pink-ified Malorian made her chuckle; it was somehow the ultimate blasphemy and the ultimate homage all at once.
Hanako leaned closer, her eyes locking onto Asuka’s, a glimmer of something darker beneath her polished composure. “Anything for you, Asuka,” she murmured, her hand brushing along Asuka’s jaw, her touch light but loaded. “After all, you are very... precious to me.”
Asuka's heart thudded in her chest, and despite herself, she felt her resolve waver a little. She knew what Hanako was—what she represented. The entire empire her father built, every oppressive detail, every corpo manipulation—all of it ran through Hanako’s veins. And yet, Asuka was weak. Very weak. For hot dommy mommies like Hanako, her rebellious anti-corpo leanings could get bent.
