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The faint glow of the computer screen illuminated the dimly lit room. A blinking cursor hovered over a line of text, waiting for its next command. The atmosphere was tense, as if the air itself was holding its breath.
Fujiwara Tei handed Miyano Shiho one of his shirts. For her now diminutive frame, it was large enough to serve as a makeshift dress.
After putting on the shirt, Miyano Shiho glanced back at the bed she had just slept in. The sheets and pillowcases were dirty, covered in dust and mud.
Seeing this, Fujiwara remarked, "That set of bedding is brand new—cost me 100,000 yen. It's probably ruined now."
"I'll compensate you," Miyano Shiho said coldly, her voice sharp.
What a petty man, she thought bitterly. Does he really have to nitpick over something like this?
Fujiwara chuckled lightly. "Do you even have money right now?"
Miyano Shiho stiffened. She didn't want to engage with him any further, but her weary body forced her to sit down on the chair by the desk. However, she quickly realized that the chair was too low for her current height. From where she sat, she couldn't even see the computer screen.
This troublesome child's body! she cursed inwardly.
Sensing her frustration, Fujiwara promptly brought over a tall stool for her to sit on. "Your physical condition isn't good right now. You should take a break first."
Despite her splitting headache, Miyano Shiho managed to rasp out, "If your superior needs this data, we need to act quickly. Any delay will only raise suspicion."
Fujiwara nodded silently. Truth be told, even if Miyano Shiho had suggested resting before gathering the information, he would have still pushed her to work despite her weakened state. As she had said, time was of the essence.
Watching her continue to work despite her illness, Fujiwara couldn't help but admire her professionalism. Even while sick, Miyano Shiho remained logical and efficient. Truly, she was an exceptional woman.
Unlike other women who might be overly emotional or dramatic, Miyano Shiho's no-nonsense demeanor stood out. She was rational, capable, and undeniably brilliant.
Connecting the hard drive to the computer, Miyano Shiho entered the password. As the detailed drug development files and experimental data appeared on the screen, she couldn't help but smile faintly.
"Thank goodness—all the data is here. This way, I can continue my research, and perhaps even develop an antidote to APTX-4869."
If it were just her body shrinking, Miyano Shiho wouldn't have minded much. At worst, she could live another decade as a child; she'd still be herself. But the side effect of APTX-4869—that her body would never grow again—was unbearable.
An adult trapped forever in a child's body? That was no different from having an incurable disease.
Despite her pounding head, Miyano Shiho's hands moved swiftly as she began sifting through and organizing the data on the computer. After a moment of hesitation, she turned to Fujiwara and explained:
"APTX-4869 was developed based on the 'Silver Bullet,' a drug my parents were researching. Among their belongings, I found the research notes for 'Silver Bullet' and continued developing it, unintentionally creating APTX-4869 in the process."
"This drug is colorless and odorless, causing death upon ingestion without leaving detectable traces of poison. That's what caught the organization's attention. I'm certain the chemical compounds I added shouldn't cause shrinking—the issue must stem from the 'Silver Bullet.'"
Struggling slightly with her smaller hands, Miyano Shiho quickly typed away on the keyboard. "I'm deleting the parts related to 'Silver Bullet' and keeping only the chemical components I added."
"At the lab, aside from APTX-4869, I was also working on another project. Combining these two sets of real research will create a theoretical compound that hasn't been fully tested yet. You can submit this fabricated drug report to your superiors. Even if the CIA sends it to pharmaceutical professors at Washington University for review, they won't find any issues."
Watching Miyano Shiho's confident expression as she worked, Fujiwara couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration. They often said men looked their best when focused on work, but Miyano Shiho's pride and competence made her equally captivating.
This was what true genius looked like. Miyano Shiho wasn't just someone who conducted research—she was someone who could change society with her creations. Her creativity and intellect were unparalleled.
As Fujiwara observed her, his thoughts drifted to classified CIA reports about secret experiments aimed at creating geniuses worldwide. Funded by powerful organizations and governments, these projects all shared one common outcome: failure.
The children raised in these programs excelled in memory, observation, and other areas, but none possessed true creativity. Creativity, after all, couldn't be cultivated—it came naturally, or not at all. The more you tried to force it, the more stifled it became.
These so-called manufactured geniuses paled in comparison to someone like Miyano Shiho. While artificial intelligence (AI) could replicate many skills, creativity remained uniquely human.
Lost in thought, Fujiwara snapped back to reality as Miyano Shiho pressed the final Enter key. Clutching her head, she staggered off the chair and declared, "I've backed up the important data and falsified the rest. You can send the fake version to your superior."
"It's not entirely fake," she clarified. "The anti-aging drug research is legitimate. If pursued, it could yield billions in profits once completed."
Finally understanding why the Black Organization kept such tight control over Miyano Shiho, Fujiwara nodded inwardly. Even without APTX-4869, the potential market for the anti-aging drug alone made her invaluable. At just eighteen years old, Miyano Shiho represented a goldmine of future innovations.
Struggling back to bed, Miyano Shiho muttered weakly, "I need to rest more. Don't disturb me."
Seeing her eat something earlier reassured Fujiwara. Appetite was a sign of recovery.
At the computer, Fujiwara skimmed through the complex chemical formulas and descriptions—but none of it made sense to him. His expertise lay elsewhere. Though he had a cheat system allowing him to allocate skill points, his priority as a CIA operative was survival, not scientific research.
Packing up the files, Fujiwara sent them directly to Spencer, completing his mission. Two days later, Spencer replied, praising Fujiwara's efficiency but expressing disappointment that the data didn't align with what he was looking for.
Spencer believed the Black Organization was hiding something else and vowed to continue investigating. Fujiwara smirked inwardly. The fact that Spencer took two days to respond meant he'd consulted experts to verify the authenticity of the data before replying—a clear indication that trust between them was limited.
Moreover, Spencer kept subtly hinting at a dangerous mission: assassinating a candidate for the presidency of Amerika. Fujiwara knew better than to let his guard down around his CIA director.
On the third day, Miyano Shiho opened her eyes. Her fever had subsided, though fatigue lingered. Sitting up in bed, she asked, "Why are you still going to school?"
"To fulfill my lifelong dream," Fujiwara replied casually.
Miyano Shiho blinked in surprise. "You're serious about becoming Japan's Prime Minister?"
"Why not?" Fujiwara shrugged.
Though skeptical, Miyano Shiho decided it wasn't worth dwelling on. Instead, she focused on her own situation. With nowhere else to go and no identity documents, she was effectively stuck with Fujiwara—for now.
"I assume you intend to use me to continue developing drugs," she stated bluntly.
Fujiwara didn't deny it. "Yes, but only to study the shrinking aspect of APTX-4869. I don't care about the toxic effects—you hate developing poisons anyway, right?"
Miyano Shiho stared at him, startled. "How did you know what I was thinking?"
"It wasn't hard to guess," Fujiwara admitted. "Your resistance to poison development is written all over your face."
Reluctantly, Miyano Shiho admitted, "Fine. I do want to study the shrinking effect further. As a scientist, how could I not be curious about such a phenomenon? Besides, it might be connected to my parents' deaths."
"But I'll need equipment," she added firmly. "Even without large-scale lab tools, I'll need precision instruments."
Fujiwara raised an eyebrow. Such equipment didn't come cheap—millions or even tens of millions of dollars could easily vanish into thin air.
Though constrained by his official CIA role, Fujiwara had alternative means of acquiring funds. With access to advanced resources like the 3D skin mask printer, he could adopt a new identity to secure quick cash.
"Leave it to me," he assured her. "I'll find a way to get the funds, but it'll take some time."
Miyano Shiho crossed her arms. "In exchange, I'll ensure any successful drug developments will bring you tenfold or even hundredfold returns."
Fujiwara grinned. With Miyano Shiho's track record—including a drug with a multi-billion-dollar market value—she truly was a golden goose.
For now, both parties seemed satisfied. Miyano Shiho had proven her worth, ensuring her safety under Fujiwara's roof—at least for the foreseeable future.