Winter came early in Hokkaido. Outside the laboratory, snow had piled thick and heavy, and the bitter wind howled across the barren mountains, threatening to swallow the isolated building entirely. The lab's windows were sealed with thick bulletproof glass, muffling the storm outside. Only the occasional alarm or the hum of machinery echoed through the corridors.
Kawashima Sakurako stood by the observation window, her hands gently resting on her swollen belly. Her pregnancy was advanced—just a few months remained until the child's birth. Her gaze fell on the scientists inside, busy at their work. Clad in white protective suits and thick masks, they moved like emotionless robots, performing various tests and experiments on her unborn child.
"Sakurako, it's time for you to rest," Kawashima Fukuichiro's voice came from behind, low and cold, like an echo from the depths of hell.
Sakurako didn't turn, her eyes still fixed on the scene behind the glass. Her fingers unconsciously traced the skin of her belly, as if soothing the child yet to be born. She knew from the moment this child entered the world, he would be nothing more than a living experiment for their spy organization—a tool for studying the EASV virus. Her child would never have a normal life.
"Father," she finally spoke, her voice hoarse, "do you really intend for my child to become an experiment?"
Fukuichiro walked beside her, eyes also on the laboratory. His face remained impassive, as if discussing the most ordinary of matters. "Sakurako, this is for the Empire's future. Your child will be key to our fight against the EASV virus. His genetic mutation will help us develop the ultimate bioweapon."
"A bioweapon?" Sakurako's voice rose, trembling. "You want to use my child to kill?"
Fukuichiro frowned, a trace of impatience in his tone. "Sakurako, you are too emotional. This is science. Progress. Your child will become a turning point in history, his name remembered forever."
"No!" Sakurako spun around, eyes flashing with angry tears. "He is my child, not your experiment! I won't let you harm him!"
Fukuichiro's expression darkened instantly. He fixed her with a cold, dangerous gaze. "Sakurako, have you forgotten your identity? You are heir to the Kawashima family. Your duty is to serve the Empire. This child is not yours alone—he belongs to the Empire."
Sakurako clenched her clothing tightly, knuckles white. Memories flashed in her mind—the night she met Guo Xiudao, the warmth of his embrace, the man who had given her a fleeting hope. She had once thought she could sacrifice everything for her family and duty, but now, feeling her child's every kick, her heart could no longer stay calm.
"Father," she said, her voice low but resolute, "I will not let you harm my child. I will take him away from here, away from your control."
A cold gleam passed through Fukuichiro's eyes. He slowly lifted a hand, lightly patting her shoulder, tone laced with threat. "Sakurako, you are naive. You think you can escape? Every corner of this lab is under my control. Every move you make, I see it all."
Her heart sank. She knew he spoke the truth. This lab was a massive cage—escape was impossible. Yet she refused to accept it. She could not let her child become an experiment.
At that moment, the lab door opened, and a tall figure entered. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed man in a crisp military uniform, his shoulder bearing the insignia of the United States. Arrogance played on his lips, eyes scanning between Sakurako and Fukuichiro before lingering on her belly.
"Commissioner Smith," Fukuichiro said, bowing slightly, his tone deferential.
Smith approached Sakurako, eyes gleaming with amusement. "So this is the legendary 'living' mother? Fascinating."
Sakurako instinctively stepped back, hands shielding her belly, eyes wary. She could sense the danger emanating from him, like a predator ready to strike.
"Commissioner Smith," Fukuichiro warned, "Sakurako is my daughter, heir of the Kawashima family. Her child is key to our fight against the EASV virus."
Smith chuckled, still eyeing her belly. "Mr. Kawashima, you seem to have forgotten—the funding and technology for this project come from us. Without us, you are nothing."
Fukuichiro's face turned dark as iron. Clenching his fists, he seethed, then quickly controlled his emotions. "Commissioner Smith, our cooperation is equal. The results of this project will be shared."
"Equal?" Smith sneered. "Mr. Kawashima, you overestimate your status. In this project, we are in control. You are merely our tools."
Sakurako shivered, realizing the true master of the lab was not her father, but this arrogant American officer.
"Father," she spoke, voice resolute, "are you really willing to let our family become their puppet?"
Fukuichiro's expression darkened further, warning clear in his cold glance. "Sakurako, silence. This is our family's chance, our Empire's chance."
Sakurako bit her lip, disappointment flashing in her eyes. Her father was blinded by ambition and power; only she could protect her child.
"Commissioner Smith," she turned to the blonde man, pleading, "my child is innocent. He is unborn—he should not be your experiment. Please, spare him."
Smith raised an eyebrow, amused. "Miss Sakurako, your maternal instinct is touching. But unfortunately, your child is too important to us. His genetic mutation will help us develop the ultimate bioweapon. This is science, progress—not your emotions."
Her heart sank. She could not convince him. She needed another plan.
"Sakurako," Fukuichiro warned again, "do not do anything foolish."
She remained silent, head bowed, hands still protecting her belly. Her mind raced for any possible escape.
Suddenly, alarms blared through the lab. Fukuichiro and Smith frowned, eyes on the monitors.
"What's happening?" Fukuichiro barked.
A scientist rushed over, pale-faced. "Report! Heavy snow caused a power failure. Backup generators are activating."
"A power failure?" Smith's face darkened. "Impossible! Our systems are state-of-the-art!"
Hope flickered in Sakurako's eyes. This was her chance. Amid the chaos, she had to escape with her child.
"I'll check the power systems," she said urgently.
Fukuichiro hesitated, but Smith smirked, suspicious. "Miss Sakurako, you seem very interested in the power systems."
Her heart raced, but she calmed herself. "I'm concerned about lab safety. There is sensitive data here."
Fukuichiro nodded reluctantly. "Go. But be careful."
Sakurako bolted down the corridor, heart pounding. Each step felt like walking on a knife's edge. She knew she had to find an exit, escape this hell.
But at the corridor's end, a tall figure blocked her path. Smith, smirking cruelly, eyes predatory.
"Where are you going, Miss Sakurako?" he growled.
Her heart plummeted—there was no escape.
"I…" she tried to speak, but no sound came.
Smith advanced, cruel intent clear. "You think you can escape?"
Her fingers clenched her clothing, despair flashing in her eyes.
Suddenly, the lab lights went out, plunging the corridor into darkness. Her heart leapt—this was her last chance.
She shoved past Smith, sprinting down the hall. The only sounds were her own breath and footsteps. She didn't know if there was an exit—but she had to run.
As she neared the end of the corridor, a beam of light hit her face. Fukuichiro's cold voice echoed: "Sakurako, you disappoint me."
Her heart sank. She knew she was trapped.
"Father…" she whispered, trembling, "please, spare my child."
Fukuichiro's face was expressionless, icy and cruel. "Sakurako, have you forgotten your mission?"
Desperation filled her eyes. She could not change her father's resolve.
Smith's voice came from behind. "Mr. Kawashima, seems your daughter needs some… education."
Fukuichiro nodded, cruelly. "Yes, Commissioner Smith."
"No…" Sakurako's voice trembled, "I won't let you harm my child…"
Her voice was soon drowned out by darkness. Lights flickered back on; men in black uniforms seized her, dragging her deeper into the lab.
Tears welled in her eyes, hands still clutching her belly.
"I'm sorry, my child…" she whispered, tears streaming. "Mom couldn't protect you…"
The lab doors closed behind her, severing any connection to the outside world. Her heart sank.
The cold metal table dug into her spine as she opened her eyes. Surgical lights stabbed into her vision. She tried to lift her arms, but leather restraints left bruises. The lingering anesthesia made her fingertips float like clouds. Instruments clinked—a sound reminiscent of childhood wind chimes.
"Fetal heartbeat normal. Prepare for cesarean." A doctor in a gas mask pressed down on her belly, droplets of condensation dripping onto her navel. She wanted to scream, but intubation pumped oxygen and anesthetic into her lungs; only a hoarse gasp escaped. She felt the blade cut through flesh—not pain, but a dull, cold gnawing that spread from womb to throat.
"It's a boy," came a mechanical Japanese voice. The clamps lifted the baby by the ankles, amniotic fluid and blood dripping onto sterile cloth. Sakurako's pupils constricted—the boy bore a sakura-shaped birthmark behind his ear, identical to the family tattoo removed from her collarbone.
"No… no…" Intubation rubbed her throat, bleeding. A nurse in protective gear injected her carotid, icy liquid coursing through her veins. Her tears traced crystalline arcs in the air. The infant's cry sounded like a rusty saw, tearing her fragile consciousness into pieces.
When she regained awareness, her abdomen ached sharper than the scalpel. She struggled off the table; the IV stand crashed, glass shards cutting her hands. The incubator glowed faintly blue at the corridor's end. Her bare feet left bloody prints on the metal floor, like a half-finished code.
Meanwhile, in a Shanghai apartment, I awoke with a stabbing pain at the back of my neck. I checked my phone: 3:00 AM. My pale face reflected on the screen, cold sweat sliding down my spine. Heart racing, a premonition gnawed at me. Reading Wang Zifang's last message—"Goodbye. Never again."—I thought: "Where are you now? Will we ever meet again, Kawashima Sakurako?"