Fukuichiro Kawashima stared at his daughter in horror, his voice trembling.
"Sakurako, you…"
Blood seeped from the child's chest. Sakurako's eyes were red with tears as she whispered, her voice raw with despair:
"I'm sorry… I brought you into this world by mistake. Now I must end your pain with my own hands."
Her words were hoarse, every syllable heavy with regret. Then, without warning, she swung the pistol's butt down hard against the back of her father's head. Fukuichiro grunted, collapsing to the floor unconscious. Sakurako did not look back. She fled the lab, her only thought fixed on reaching the harbor.
Far away in Shanghai, I felt a sudden sharp pang in my chest. I clutched at my heart, grimacing in pain.
"Fa Ge, what's wrong? You don't look good," Er-Ge asked, alarmed.
"Nothing. Just chest pain," I managed.
Qin Xiao turned sharply. "That's strange. The files didn't say anything about you having heart problems."
I waved my hand dismissively. "Lately it just happens—don't know why."
Er-Ge frowned. "Think about it. Your child should be a few months old now. Could it be connected?"
The three of us exchanged stunned looks. His words made too much sense. Given the intelligence we had intercepted, the situation was growing dire: the EASV strain and its vaccine were likely already complete. The only question left was—what were they planning next?
I muttered under my breath, brows knitted tight. "Sakurako Kawashima… where are you?"
Back in the laboratory, after Sakurako's escape, a shadowy figure emerged. His voice was calm, deep, and cold:
"Kawashima-san, you really let her go?"
Fukuichiro slowly rose to his feet, rubbing the back of his head. A thin smile curled at his lips.
"Kozue, sometimes one must make a show in the open to mask what happens in the shadows. This way, even Commissioner Smith will have nothing to say. Pity about the demon child… I never expected Sakurako to…"
Kozue smirked, his tone laced with irony. "As expected of Yoshiko Kawashima's granddaughter—decisive and cunning. You should be careful, Kawashima-san."
Fukuichiro did not reply. His eyes lingered coldly on the fallen child, flickering with unreadable emotion.
At the harbor, the night was black as ink. Wind roared across the docks, waves hammering the shore in deep, thunderous rhythm. Dozens of yachts lay silent, their outlines swallowed by the dark. Only one vessel displayed a cherry blossom-shaped lamp, its flickering light shimmering across the water like a beacon in the abyss.
A seasoned agent, Sakurako instantly recognized the signal—her father's arrangement. She vaulted onto the yacht, pistol drawn, and eased open the cabin door.
"Michiko?!" she exclaimed, eyes widening at the sight of her inside.
Michiko simply nodded, her tone steady. "You're here at last, Miss Sakurako. Where to? Show me the way."
Sakurako lowered her weapon, handing over the chart. Though she knew her father had orchestrated this escape, the question gnawed at her: what was his true intent?
The modified yacht surged into the night, its searchlight piercing the fog. Waves rose and crashed along the hull, spraying white foam like battle drums heralding their flight. Overhead, the moon hung as a broken shard, casting a pale glow across the trembling sea.
On deck, the wind stung her face. Doubt, grief, and dread swirled within her chest. Michiko's voice called from the cabin, breaking her reverie.
"Miss Sakurako, we're almost there."
Sakurako inhaled deeply, steadying herself. Every step ahead mattered.
The yacht slowed, the engine dying into silence. Only the ceaseless tide remained. She checked the coordinates—exactly between China and Japan, international waters.
"Signal them," she ordered.
Michiko nodded, fired a flare into the sky. A scarlet bloom burst overhead, igniting the sea in crimson light. As it faded, a distant blink answered—Morse code.
Sakurako scribbled rapidly, muttering as she decoded.
"They want identity confirmation."
Michiko replied with a flashlight, matching the rhythm of Sakurako's instructions. Moments later, the return signal was clear: Prepare for rendezvous.
A Shanghai-registered fishing boat emerged from the dark. Sakurako's pistol was up instantly, trained on the vessel. From the cabin stepped three bald-headed men.
Her finger tightened on the trigger, her heart hammering but her gaze icy.
"So it's you. My father planned this all along, didn't he?"
The leader smiled coolly. "Relax, Miss Sakurako. We're only here to escort you."
She sneered. "Escort? On whose orders—my father's, or Commissioner Smith's?"
He shrugged. "Does it matter? What matters is—you need us."
Her mind raced. She knew she had no retreat left. Whether her father or Smith, their goals were the same: to use her, to use her child. The child was gone now. All that remained was survival—and revenge.
"Fine," she said at last, lowering the gun.
The fishing boat carried her onward through the night. She stood at the stern, gun still clenched in her hand, staring at the vanishing horizon.
"Miss Sakurako, why not rest below?" the bald man asked lightly.
"I'll stay here," she replied coldly, not turning.
He shrugged and disappeared inside. She caught fragments of hushed words—"Chongming," "rendezvous point." She stayed silent, wary.
The sea's salt stung her lips, the memory of Guo Yi flashing in her mind—the fragile life she had ended herself. Her fingers traced the gun's grip.
"I'm sorry… Guo Yi," she whispered, her words lost to the wind.
Back on the yacht, Michiko stood at the bow, watching the fishing boat vanish into the dark. She waited, still. Then, from the shadows, another trawler appeared.
A man in black leapt aboard. His voice was like ice. "Where is it?"
Michiko wordlessly retrieved a hidden case from the cabin and handed it over. The man keyed in a code. Inside, two vials glowed with eerie green light, resting in dry ice—the virus and the vaccine.
Satisfied, he snapped the case shut. Then, without warning, his arm slashed. Michiko's eyes widened in disbelief as her hand touched her throat, blood pouring between her fingers.
"You knew too much," he said coldly, stepping back onto his boat.
Moments later, flames erupted. The yacht became a torch on the black sea, burning until it crumbled and sank. The waves closed over the wreck, erasing all trace of what had transpired.
The ocean was silent once more.
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