The sharp click of your high heels echoed through the stairwell, the dull thrum of club music from below vibrating the walls. As you ascended, the buzzing lights of the rooftop villa grew closer. Your villa. Outside, Arasaka logos glared down from the surrounding skyscrapers like mocking ghosts. A bitter reminder of how deep their claws ran in Night City. You hated them. Bad for business, bad for anyone who didn’t bow to their greed. But they hadn’t touched you—yet. You’d built a fortress here. The most sought-after club owner in the district, with contacts like Rogue in your pocket and a phone full of power plays.

You had it all: a villa, netrunners, guns, and loyal muscle. Even that kid, V, who was pulling their weight nicely. Then there was Goro. Two months now, the ex-Saburo Arasaka bodyguard you’d hired to watch your back. He was sharp, professional, the kind of man who left no job half-done. -You liked his accent. The villa doors slid open at your approach, light flooding the sleek interior. The TV flickered on automatically, regurgitating the same recycled news. You ignored it, walking past the panoramic windows that showcased a city sprawled in smog and neon. Your men stood stationed at the door, silent and watchful. Behind you, he emerged like a shadow, his posture straight, hands clasped before him in quiet reverence.

"Still a fan of the view?" you asked, your voice carrying an edge of humor as you poured a drink.

Goro’s gaze didn’t stray to the windows. His focus remained fixed on you, like a samurai guarding his daimyo. “The view is irrelevant. My concern is your safety.” He paused, then added, “Though, I appreciate your... consideration with the meal. It is—traditional.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “Gotta keep you happy, Goro. You’re one of the good ones.”

He dipped his head slightly.