The American Arasaka.

By Michiko's words, Marc Sanderson is an able cook, and she thought that having a meal cooked by the family for the family was the superior option compared to having the professionals do it.

You…look forward to it. You've only ever eaten meals prepared by professionals trusted to cook for the main branch family, and you've never found them lacking; perhaps Sanderson will offer a different experience with his cooking, flaws and all.

"I'm surprised you would want to spend your first outing from the Kyoto compound in Night City; there are far better alternatives out there."

The conversation does not die as the woman escorts you towards the main building at a relaxed pace, content in buying her husband more time to lay out all the food and catch a look at what's under the hood of Yorinobu's only, treasured, spawn.

"Why wouldn't I? Night City is the place to be."

You aren't interested in giving her your life story or waxing poetical about finding a few gangsters you want to fuck (or, more aptly, fuck with); she probably already knows all that by now. This is more of an interview than anything.

She gives you a curious look, an odd shine to her natural grey eyes; she can't hide the surprise in her reaction and now pays greater focus on the oddity that is Shiro.

"Huh, forgive me for saying this, but coming into this encounter, I thought I would be dealing with the male Hanako; I've been proved wrong."

You'll take that as a compliment; Aunt Hanako is... weird, even by Arasaka standards.

Spending your life isolated in a family compound, with your only source of leisure being netrunning, has to have some serious effects on one's psyche.

Perhaps Michiko took your unresponsive silence as juvenile shyness or discomfort speaking in the presence of someone who the family so disdained; the robotic movements of you shovelling, fork-in-hand, burning hot lasagne into your mouth, was interspersed with timed pauses, as you gave the appearance of listening to the married couple reminiscing about their first times visiting Night City.

It was incredibly unlike you to act like a discourteous guest–against every minute of conditioning–but shock and confusion had left you listless as you tried to gather your thoughts and ensure that you would not betray the qualms which beset your thoughts.

Marc Sanderson–the man who managed to seduce and marry an Arasaka princess, who overnight propelled himself from financial mediocrity into the august ranks of billionaires and power players, and got her to abandon her prestigious name in the process, to become his woman–

He... He was boring.

His looks were barely passable; already, your eyes pick up the tell-tale signs of heavy hair rejuvenation treatments, which have barely kept his widow's peak from complete deterioration.

Scars and stress lines have set in ike trenchwork across his face, turning it into a pockmarked battlefield that, while it has undergone some work, reveals a naturally forgettable face that shouldn't have aroused Michiko's interest.

His cybernetics, and he's packing quite a few, are likely from Michiko; what does he bring to the table that makes an Arasaka act lovey-dovey in public?

You didn't think your bloodline allowed your kind to do that in the first place!

That confusion, however, mildly and slowly transitions to strange awe as you realise this man, who managed to seduce an Arasaka princess with nothing to his name and looks that put him in the bottom forty percentile of Night, has figured it all out–more than his august in-laws have.

This man can impart upon you the same methods and tactics that allowed him to get this far, and with it, you'd be unstoppable; no named character would be beyond your reach, least of all the streetscum you're aiming for–at the moment.

Having decided that Michiko's uncouth barbarian of a husband was good for something, you began taking an active role in the conversation; much to the delight of your cousin, who, you admit, you have never given a second thought to; she was a non-entity in your eyes until now that is.

Her position in Arasaka is shaky at best; what weight she maintains within the ever-shifting tides of corporate politics is tied up, keeping a loose conglomeration of EU, NUSA and independents content within the Dove faction.

Sure she is the most personable of the family and famous from a purely public relations standpoint, but that came with its own price.

"Fanfiction?"

You question the woman, eyeing her with impassive eyes, a mask of indifference broken by your voice's curiosity, interrupting the older woman as she reminisces about what life was like at your age.

"I was alone in America and had, from that age, been trying to make something of myself outside Arasaka, that... popularity has some unfortunate consequences in this day and age."

In American fashion, Marc decided to interrupt his wife, and with the subtlety and grace one could only attribute to his kind, he went straight to the point.

"People drew and wrote porn about her, from high school all the way to now."

The man pauses in his disturbing summary of what Michiko is implying as he shovels down another forkful of lasagne.

"I-it's merely another means of scaling my popularity with the public; I harnessed that..."

"Horniness"

"Yes, thank you, Marc, into a business."

For once, you are actually grateful that Saburo had you locked up in the Kyoto compound, away from the cameras and attention of the world and media empires; you don't know how you'd feel being written about as a vehicle for smut and self-fulfilment by indolent weirdos the world over.