Cyberpunk: 2075.

Chapter 706, Question 120: Are you V?

Faced with the samurai sword held to her neck, Rosalind Miles instantly assessed the situation—any rash move could lead to a fatal attack.

The cold blade pressed against her carotid artery, and she could even feel the subtle vibrations transmitted through the metal. Completely at the mercy of others, the experienced president made a textbook emergency response.

She loosened her grip, letting the wreckage of the gun, consisting only of the grip and part of the frame, fall to the ground, the metal parts making a crisp sound as they collided with the cabin floor.

Raise both arms slowly with an extremely professional posture, keeping the elbows slightly bent, neither too close to the torso to expose tension, nor overextended to appear threatening.

As she completed this standard unarmed stance, she slightly raised her chin, shielding her vocal cords from the pressure of the blade: "Whose people are you? Arasaka's people?"

Each syllable of hers was controlled within a steady frequency range, carrying a sense of dissuasion as she spoke: "Do you know what you're doing? You're trying to start a war."

Clearly, Rosalind Miles misunderstood the cold gleam of the samurai sword in V's hand.

In Night City, this steel jungle of neon lights and blood, there are only two kinds of people who would carry a katana: either the ninjas of the Arasaka Group, or the tattooed thugs of the Tiger Claw Gang under their command.

This judgment flashed through her brain like an electric current, and a series of possibilities began to race through her consciousness.

'Were the attackers from Arasaka? Was it an order from Senobu himself, or an operation by another faction within Arasaka?'

The chill of the blade seemed to seep into her mind, almost making her body tremble.

'If this was a trap set by Sei Nobuo, then the so-called negotiations were a trap from the very beginning.'

Her molars clenched unconsciously.

'Damn it, I should have known better. How could that ruthless guy suddenly change his ways after Sanlang's death? He must have deliberately spread rumors of peace talks to lure me into a trap.'

This realization was like a dose of liquid nitrogen injected into her veins.

Fear—an emotion she thought she had long since become immune to in political struggles—was slowly rising up her spine.

If this was indeed Sei-nobu's doing, then the fact that the knife-wielder in front of her didn't immediately slit her throat must mean he had a more sinister purpose.

She had already considered the worst-case scenario: her own corpse would become the trigger at a crucial moment, causing even more devastating chaos than when Saburo Arasaka was assassinated, thus sparking a new corporate war.

Regardless of the outcome of the new America victory, military technology will inevitably seize the opportunity to re-infiltrate the core of the government, and the plan she risked her political life to promote to make the new America great again will be completely shattered with the control of the military technology board.

The image materialized in her mind: a military-technological force reappeared openly in the heart of Washington, D.C., her painstakingly cultivated reformist faction was purged one by one, and the political capital the Miles family had accumulated since the Mayflower vanished before the execution list.

Ironically, all of this stems from her fatal misjudgment today.

The thought that all her hard work—for power, for ambition, for even the smallest bit of patriotism in her heart—would be rendered futile by her misjudgment, and that all traces of her would be erased with the return of military technology to the new America, intensified Rosalind Myers's fear. At that moment, fear materialized into a tangible reality.

It twisted into the bulging veins at her temples, and condensed into cool beads of sweat sliding down her spine. All these subtle physiological reactions were precisely captured by V's eyes.

He observed Rosalind Miles's forced composure with great interest, measuring the president's fear threshold with every second the blade circled her carotid artery, until he was certain her body was fully in a state of stress. Only then did V casually withdraw the blade two centimeters—a distance that maintained deterrence without actually causing harm.

V admitted to himself that he had indeed been led astray by his companions.

In particular, KK's theory of "negotiation psychology" has now been deeply ingrained in his behavior.

According to KK, when discussing matters, one must pay attention to the other party's expression and attitude, as these are often more important than the bargaining chips at hand. V kept KK's words in mind.

When he stares at someone with such cold, emotionless eyes for a long time, the other person in the conversation often becomes flustered, unable to figure out his background, and thus takes the initiative to offer higher rewards and reveal more information.

Although Rosalind Myers wasn't the type to immediately discuss compensation, V was still curious to see how the new US president would react to a life-threatening crisis and fear.

The result was much calmer than he had imagined. As expected of someone who has seen the world, he remained mostly calm.

“Relax, President Rosalind Myers.” V spoke the instant the blade moved away, his voice like a scalpel slicing through ice. He noticed the slight tremor in the other woman’s Adam’s apple, the most honest physiological reaction when a person is tense while swallowing.

Before Rosalind Miles, the face of the man wielding the katana changed, eventually becoming a face whose disguise faded, a face she had never seen in reality, yet was incredibly familiar with.

"I am V. I came here specifically to help you on the request from the Lark."

"You're V?!"

Looking at that face, even though Rosalind Miles recognized V, she couldn't help but raise her voice slightly, then suddenly lowered it as if she realized something: "Sorry, I made a sudden move just now. I was worried that the person who came in might be an enemy."

The president's shock did not stem from the revelation of the other party's identity—the Nightingale had indeed mentioned that the legendary mercenary squad from Night City might be involved in the protection efforts.

What truly surprised her was the difference in actual combat.

As the former first person to emerge from the bloody battlefields of military technology and the current leader of the new America, she has undergone ample training in assassination and counter-assassination, and is even confident that she can subdue special forces members with her bare hands.

Just now, she launched a preemptive attack, only to be easily disarmed by the enemy as if they were dealing with a child's toy. The combat reports that the intelligence department had marked as "possibly exaggerated" were now brutally validated by the metallic taste lingering in her throat.

With the click of the scabbard closing, Rosalind Miles' tense back muscles relaxed. When the shadow of death loomed overhead, nothing was more reassuring than a protector who could subdue her instantly.

(End of this chapter)