For the first time, David Martinez truly understood the meaning of the word stunning.
In the grime and shadows of Santo Domingo, he had never seen colors so radiant.
That striking silhouette, standing out from everyone here—and everyone back there—was unlike anything he'd known.
She leaned with lazy elegance against the railing near the stage's rear corner. The tailored Arasaka women's uniform hugged her statuesque, graceful figure perfectly.
Her pale golden hair, tied in a high, voluminous ponytail with a deep red ribbon, flowed freely behind her—bright, bold, and unforgettable.
Her profile, illuminated by the natural light artfully filtered through the venue's architectural design, glowed with a pearlescent sheen. Two slender fingers held a cigarette, wisps of smoke curling around her.
Light and mist. Dreamlike.
In that moment, she seemed to shine, her entire being exuding a dazzling brilliance and irresistible allure.
"She's beautiful..."
David's gaze froze, his mouth subconsciously parting.
Just describing her as good-looking felt shallow. But lacking any poetic vocabulary, that quiet murmur was all he could manage.
"David... David?"
"It's nothing."
He quickly looked away, slightly flustered, head bowed.
Poor kids learned early. David could vaguely but accurately feel how out of place he was. The distance between himself and that stage—immeasurable.
...
Of course, Gloria noticed her son's gaze.
She turned and followed it.
Undeniably a beautiful woman. But also deadly.
In Night City, staying glamorous without drawing the filth and scum to you usually meant one thing: the prettier something was, the deadlier it probably was.
Stare—!
"Ah...!"
Gloria reflexively took a step back.
Because now standing before her was an Arasaka agent with his eye sockets and nasal bridge embedded in a full combat cybernetic shell. His glowing red optics locked coldly onto her.
...
But after a moment, he seemed to assess and dismiss any threat.
Gloria and David—a freshman and his guardian—were confirmed, utterly harmless.
The agent moved on.
"Haa... haa..."
As if just surviving a near-death encounter, Gloria pressed a hand to her chest and traced a cross—a gesture few still practiced in this world.
Unlike David's youthful, naive eyes, Gloria—an emergency medic at a Night City clinic—knew quite a bit about how the big corps operated.
That woman... was definitely a major Arasaka executive.
David was growing up, wasn't he?
Coming of age. A young boy with his first crush.
Falling for a woman that graceful and beautiful? Totally normal.
Gloria thought silently.
But—
She glanced again toward the VIP area behind the stage.
A bear-sized, combat-augmented bodyguard held a crystal ashtray fetched from the lounge, while the Arasaka executive snuffed out her cigarette and slowly returned to her seat. The academy staff respectfully bowed as they offered her refreshments...
Totally not a match.
David, this crush... you need to let it go.
...
"Understood."
Having received the report from the agents handling venue security, Laurie—Vela's white bodyguard—said:
"Commander, just a new student. No threat detected."
Unaware of the impression she had just left on certain onlookers, Vela nodded and glanced casually over the venue.
She wasn't the least bit worried about getting assassinated here—or a terror strike at Arasaka Academy in the heart of the municipal district.
Since the end of the Fourth Corporate War, and the fall of those sky-high "legends," no one in over fifty years had dared stir up trouble in Corporate Plaza or the municipal district and lived to tell the tale.
Though... that red-haired woman in the yellow Night City Medical Center jacket...
Huh?
A mohawked teen with that same clear-eyed, stupidly innocent expression.
Was this the year the future youngest legend of Night City enrolled?
Whirr—
[Scanner Activated]
Scan Results:
Gloria Martinez
Civilian. Employed at Night City Medical Center. Non-trauma unit. Cyberware grade: low. Vulnerable to breach.
Cybernetics: Basic CPU, chip socket
Weapons: None
David Martinez...
...
The profile overlay in her vision made one thing clear: Vela had just earned a useful piece of intel today.
"Send me the list of external admissions to this year's class, and their entrance scores," she ordered, her eyes glowing orange with habit-bred foresight, preparing rationale for future decisions.
As for meeting the future little legend right now?
That would only hurt him.
Besides, a sixteen-year-old brat—clueless, inexperienced, barely developed physically—wasn't useful to her yet.
No blood ties. Vela wasn't in the business of babysitting. What she wanted were loyal subordinates who could take bullets for her and execute orders without question.
Let him simmer for a year. Let him feel the heat of Night City, understand hardship, witness what it takes for a single mother to raise a son.
Then Vela would make her move—appear out of the blue, offer help under the guise of a "kind senior" who recognized his potential.
Only then could she earn a faithful subordinate. One who, in time, would become a legendary enforcer recognized even by Adam Smasher himself.
No need to be an Edgerunner. Become a corporate hound instead.
Sigh, I'm such a bad person.
Vela chuckled at herself. She really had a gift for scheming.
She hadn't even thought about what to do with the kid until now, and in a few minutes she'd already outlined a complete recruitment and grooming plan without consulting anyone.
Yep. Totally Arasaka's fault.
They made her this way.
"So go on then. Struggle through Arasaka Academy, get grilled, and work hard to grow stronger."
Her slender fingers lifted a glass of ice water. She took a sip and leaned back on the sofa, gazing out through the window at the growing, disorderly but still manageable crowd of new students.
Soon, the entrance ceremony began.
Once inside the hall, Vela was invited up to the central platform as a distinguished guest: top of the class in 2070, honored alumna, Arasaka executive.
She sat calmly, listening to the short, round principal deliver his speech.
Soon, she would have to speak too—part of the program. Then maybe answer some questions from the incoming class.
No big deal.
Nothing to sweat over. As a director at Umbrella, Vela had long grown used to making speeches and showing up to events like this.
In America, facing reporters, chaotic activist groups, charities, whatever—Vela had mastered every trick: lying with a straight face, dodging questions, shifting focus, changing definitions, hypothetical fallacies, throwing blame right back...
"Now please welcome the 2070 valedictorian of Arasaka Academy—Chief Vela Adelheid Russell—to deliver our entrance address!"