Kawashima Sakurako lay on the cold hospital bed, the monotonous ticking of machines echoing in her ears. Her body was so frail she could barely move, yet her thoughts remained sharp and clear. She knew she had to regain her strength quickly—only then would she have a chance to save her child.
Every corner of the laboratory was covered by surveillance cameras. Kawashima Fukuichiro and Commissioner Smith observed her every movement with clinical precision. She needed to find a weakness, a crack in their watchfulness, a chance they could not predict.
At that moment, the door creaked open. A nurse in a white uniform stepped in, carrying a tray with several bottles of medicine and syringes. Her professional smile masked a tension that flickered in her eyes.
"Miss Sakurako, it's time for your injection," the nurse said softly, her voice touched with concern.
Sakurako nodded faintly, but her gaze remained fixed on the woman's trembling fingers. Something was being concealed.
"Are you new here?" she asked, her voice probing gently.
The nurse froze, then quickly nodded. "Yes, I was just transferred to this lab."
A flicker of hope stirred in Sakurako's chest. Perhaps this woman could be her only chance.
"Thank you for your care," Sakurako murmured. "I'm hungry. Could you bring me something to eat later?"
The nurse's face lit with relief. "Of course, Miss Sakurako. I'm glad to hear you're finally willing to eat."
Her steps faded down the corridor. Sakurako closed her eyes, breathing deeply to calm her nerves. Every step ahead would be perilous—one misstep, and both she and her child would be doomed.
Minutes later, the nurse returned, carrying a bowl of steaming porridge. She set it gently on the bedside table. "Please, Miss Sakurako, eat while it's still hot."
Sakurako slowly sat up, her fingers brushing the warm porcelain. The rising steam blurred her vision as she tasted the first spoonful. The porridge was plain, fragrant with rice, carrying a faint reminder of warmth in an otherwise merciless world.
"Thank you," she said softly. Her eyes met the nurse's. "What's your name?"
The nurse hesitated, then answered, "My name is Michiko, Miss Sakurako."
"Michiko," Sakurako repeated gently, her tone tinged with warmth. "How long have you been working here?"
Michiko's gaze flickered, hesitant. "Not long. I used to work at another hospital before this."
Sakurako nodded thoughtfully. Yes—this woman might be the only path to freedom.
"Michiko," she said, setting down the bowl and locking eyes with the nurse. "Do you believe in fate?"
The question startled Michiko, though she quickly masked her surprise. "Fate… sometimes we can't choose it. But we can choose how to face it."
Sakurako's eyes glimmered with approval. "You're right. Sometimes fate gives us opportunities we never expected. The question is—whether we dare seize them."
Michiko's hands trembled slightly. She lowered her head, lost in thought, then lifted her eyes, resolve glinting within them. "Miss Sakurako… is there something you need me to do?"
A surge of emotion welled in Sakurako's chest, though she forced herself to stay composed. "Michiko, I know you are kind. My child… he's so young. I cannot allow him to be their experiment. Will you help me?"
Michiko's lips quivered as inner conflict raged across her face. At last, she nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "I will do my best, Miss Sakurako."
Tears pricked Sakurako's eyes. She gripped Michiko's hand tightly. "Thank you, Michiko. You are my only hope."
Michiko gave a bitter smile, patting Sakurako's hand. "Please rest, Miss Sakurako. I will come again."
When she left, Sakurako sank back into bed. Her heart swirled with fear, hope, and determination. She knew the path forward was dangerous, yet she also knew she must fight for her child—no matter the cost.
The dim light hummed overhead, the machines ticked steadily on. But in her heart, a spark of hope now glowed. She clenched her fist and swore silently: she would protect her child at all costs.
The door opened again. Heavy, commanding footsteps echoed across the room. She knew instantly who it was—Kawashima Fukuichiro.
"Sakurako," his voice was low, cold, and merciless, "how is your recovery?"
She turned her head toward her father's stern face. His eyes held no warmth, only calculation. Forcing herself calm, she whispered, "Father, I feel much better now. Thank you for your concern."
"Good," Fukuichiro replied, standing over her. "Your body is critical to us. You must recover quickly."
Her nails dug deep into her palm. "Father, I… I wish to see my child."
Fukuichiro's eyes narrowed. "The boy is undergoing necessary procedures. You must not interfere."
Her chest tightened, but she feigned calm. "Please, Father. Just one look. I swear I won't disturb the experiment."
After a long silence, he relented. "Very well. But you will obey the rules and keep your distance."
He led her down a corridor lined with cameras and harsh lights. At last, they stopped before a reinforced glass door. Fukuichiro entered a code, and the door opened to reveal a vast laboratory reeking of chemicals.
Sakurako's breath caught as her eyes fell on the transparent chamber at its center. Her heart thundered. She moved instinctively, but her father blocked her path.
"From here," he commanded.
Through the glass, she saw her child.
The small body floated in a pale green solution, tubes snaking into his arms, chest, and nose. His eyelids were shut, his face ghostly pale—like a fragile doll devoid of life.
Sakurako's heart clenched violently. Her fingers gripped the glass until her knuckles turned white. Rage and grief surged inside her, threatening to consume her whole being.
"Father," she whispered, her voice chilling, "what is the progress?"
"It is done," he replied coldly. "We have completed the EASV serum and the vaccine."
"Then why continue?" she suddenly roared.
"Because of money."
The mocking voice came from the shadows—Commissioner Smith emerged with a sly grin. "Ah, Miss Sakurako. I heard you were here, so I thought I'd stop by."
"Smith," Fukuichiro muttered, as though to silence him.
But Smith ignored him, turning toward Sakurako with a predator's smile. "Your little one is priceless. Forgive me—perhaps I should not call him the 'demon infant.' But right now, a single cubic centimeter of his blood equals a kilogram of gold. The world's most powerful biotech companies are lining up. And rumor has it… this rare 'panda blood' may even hide the key to immortality. The old monsters of this world are already drooling with impatience."
Sakurako froze, her soul plunged into an icy abyss. She understood now—the demons had already claimed her child. He would never be free. Slowly, she closed her eyes, a grim resolve forming within.
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