"Takafumi Wakaba, I'm warning you. Don't use Mutsumi's connections to get close to him. We're only her parents, and business partners at best. You're not qualified to tap into my resources."
Takafumi felt a chill under her stare and barked back, all bluster and no substance, "What the hell are you implying?!"
"Nothing in particular."
Minami Mori withdrew her gaze and turned back to the television, where Seiji Fujiwara filled the screen. A hunter's glint flashed in her eyes.
"Young. Rich. Ruthless. And… handsome enough."
She glanced back, measuring her "husband" with a shake of her head and a sigh.
"I'm just reminding you that a washed-up entertainer on the verge of being destroyed by scandal is no longer qualified to be my partner."
"Or perhaps…"
Her eyes drifted to the cover of a nearby business magazine. On it was Seiji Fujiwara again.
"In any case, don't forget to sign the divorce papers."
With that, she ignored the man behind her, pale as if struck by lightning, and walked out of the cold, lifeless house. Her heels clicked sharply against the floor, never once looking back.
....
Seiji Fujiwara was in a very good mood.
Completely conquering Sakiko had given him not only a perfect, obedient, highly functional private possession, but something far more important.
The system rewards—the Generic Drug Development Team and the near-bankrupt Yamato Precision—meant the blueprint for his long-awaited "medical empire" could finally begin.
Medicine.
A field more profitable and more stable than finance, entertainment, or any other industry.
Control life, aging, sickness, and death, and you control humanity's lifeline.
And with it, an endless river of wealth.
Seiji sat in his study as the light screen before him displayed the rewards the system had just issued.
[Generic Drug Development Team]
Leader: Kengo Satou
Profile: Former chief pharmacist at Takeda Pharmaceuticals. Forced out due to ideological conflicts and internal power struggles. Led a small team to start independently. Currently on the brink of disbandment after exhausting all funds developing a new antihypertensive drug, with progress stalled at a critical technical bottleneck.
[Yamato Precision]
Profile: A long-established Japanese medical equipment manufacturer with complete production lines and multiple core patents. Fell into financial crisis due to mismanagement by the founder's eldest son. Currently being jointly shorted by capital groups including Mitsui and Sumitomo, with stock prices in free fall and delisting imminent.
Seiji tapped the light screen lightly with his finger.
Kengo Satou.
Yamato Precision.
One has people.
One has factories.
Both lack money.
A perfect match.
"Megumi."
He called out calmly.
The next second, Megumi's figure appeared soundlessly at the study door, as if she had teleported there.
She wore a standard secretary's OL outfit today. Black stockings wrapped neatly around her shapely legs, her expression as placid as ever.
"Boss, what are your orders?"
"Make some preparations." Seiji shut down the light screen and stood up. "This afternoon, we're going somewhere to meet someone."
"Should I prepare the car?"
"No." He smiled faintly. "Cars can't get to that place."
…
Tokyo, Adachi Ward.
The roads were cracked and uneven, flanked by abandoned factories and warehouses. The walls were covered in grotesque graffiti.
Satou's lab was tucked away in this place, a spot even stray dogs couldn't be bothered to visit.
Calling it a laboratory was generous. It was really just a temporary setup converted from an old building.
Crash!
Shatter—!
The screech of breaking glass rang out as an empty liquor bottle was hurled from a second-floor window and smashed to pieces on the ground.
Inside the warehouse, the stench of alcohol hung thick in the air.
Empty bottles and half-eaten bento boxes littered the floor. Lab equipment was piled haphazardly in the corners, buried under a thick layer of dust.
A middle-aged man in a white lab coat sat slumped on the floor. His hair was a tangled mess, his beard unkempt, and a half-empty bottle of cheap sake dangled from his hand.
It was Kengo Satou.
Once a rising star in the industry, now a fallen drunk.
A few young researchers stood around him, equally dejected.
"Satou-sensei… are we really… giving up?"
A bespectacled young man looked at the mess around them, his voice thick with unwillingness.
"If we don't give up, what then?" Satou let out a bitter laugh and took another hard swig.
He pointed at the piles of failed experimental data stacked on the table, his voice hoarse.
"The money… is gone."
"The rent's due next week!"
"Even the lab mice were paid for with cash advances from my credit card!"
"We've been driven into a dead end!"
He roared like an enraged lion, yet behind his bloodshot eyes lay only bottomless despair.
For a full year, he had gambled everything to replicate a highly effective but outrageously expensive antihypertensive drug.
He sold his house. Sold his car. Burned through all his savings and buried himself in debt he could never repay.
He believed his talent and his team's effort would be enough.
But reality struck him with a merciless slap.
The process was stuck at the final step.
They had tried hundreds of catalytic schemes. Every single one failed.
Like climbing a mountain with no peak in sight—just when you think you've reached the top, the final step turns out to be a bottomless cliff.
"Sensei…"
A female researcher's eyes were red as she choked back tears. "Please… give us one more chance. I really feel like we're just a little bit away…"
"A little bit?" Satou smiled bitterly and shook his head.
"You don't understand."
"That 'little bit' is a chasm."
"A chasm that people like us, with no backing and no capital, can never cross."
He staggered to the window and stared at the gray sky outside.
"Go."
His voice was drained.
"You're still young. Go back to the big companies. You'll have to swallow your pride, but at least… you'll survive."
"This damn dream… I'm done with it."
He grabbed the last remaining bottle of sake on the table, twisted it open, and raised it to his lips.
Just then—
Creeeak—
The rusted iron door of the warehouse was pushed open.
The sudden noise startled everyone.
Satou froze, squinting blearily toward the entrance. Two figures stood there, backlit by the light. In front was a boy, almost too young, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit that clearly wasn't cheap. Behind him stood a beautiful girl with long black hair, her expression unreadable. The stark contrast made the scene feel absurd.
"Who… are you?" Satou asked warily. This wasn't a place decent people came to.
Seiji didn't answer. He walked straight to the whiteboard covered in formulas and tapped a finger against a complex chemical structure.
"Here." His voice was calm, yet carried an undeniable authority. "It's wrong."
"What?"
Satou froze. So did his team. That molecular structure was something they had verified countless times, and this brat who came out of nowhere was saying it was wrong?
"Hahahaha!"
Satou burst into laughter as if he'd heard the greatest joke in the world, laughing until tears streamed down his face.
"Kid, do you even know what that is?"
"You haven't even finished growing, and you want to talk pharmacology?"
"Get out of here. Stop joking around."
He pointed impatiently at the door.
Seiji didn't get angry. He picked up a marker and drew a new structure next to the original, then wrote a precise series of catalyst ratios beneath it. When he was done, he tossed the marker aside.
"Try it this way."
With that, he ignored the stunned faces around him, dragged over a relatively clean chair, and sat down unhurriedly. The warehouse fell into dead silence. Every pair of eyes was locked onto the new structure and parameters on the whiteboard.
Satou sobered up halfway in an instant. He stumbled to the board, eyes wide, lips trembling, unable to say a word. Impossible. This structure completely violated Pauling's rules. This ratio was sheer madness. And yet... why did this absurd-looking structure seem to solve the problem that had plagued his team for an entire year? Why did these parameters perfectly align with that fleeting inspiration he had grasped at but never been able to hold?
"Sensei?" The bespectacled researcher stared in disbelief. "This… might actually work?"
"Of course it will!" Satou suddenly shouted like a madman. "Everyone! Move, now! Preheat Reactor A! One hundred twenty degrees Celsius in thirty seconds! Spin up Centrifuge C! I don't care if it breaks—if it explodes today, so be it! Catalyst! Number seven catalyst, exactly as written! Six decimal places! Anyone who messes up even one digit, I'll throw them out myself!"
In that moment, the man who had been a drunk wreck for half a year looked as if he'd found his soul again. The team moved like soldiers injected with adrenaline, rushing to their stations. The lab, silent for months, roared back to life with the sound of machinery.
Seiji sat quietly, watching the researchers in their frenzy. His expression never changed. Because he already knew the outcome was inevitable.
…
Backstage at the TV station, the famous comedian Takafumi Wakaba finished recording for the day. The moment he returned backstage, the smile fell from his face, replaced by bone-deep exhaustion and disgust. Comedians, offstage, are often the least smiling people of all. Years of performing had worn him down to the core, forcing him to rely on alcohol, women, gambling—anything to numb himself. A slow death, he knew, but without it, he'd be dead by tomorrow.
Mocking himself, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through business news. A bold headline caught his eye.
[Shocking! Toyokawa Group Cuts Off an Arm to Survive—Genesis Medical Emerges as the Biggest Winner!]
"Genesis… Seiji Fujiwara?" He narrowed his eyes. "Fast moves. Fujiwara-sensei really is a monster who eats people whole, huh?"
It had nothing to do with him. He cared about only one thing: "If Genesis Medical had a huge year, they'll probably hire comedians for the annual party, right?" That would be his chance.
…
At the same time, in Tokyo's most exclusive women-only spa, Minami Mori, a famous actress fresh from a failed audition, lay face-down on a massage bed enjoying an oil treatment. She casually flipped open the latest business magazine. On the cover was Seiji Fujiwara's face, handsome to an almost excessive degree.
[Tokyo's New King: Unraveling the Rise of Genesis's President, Seiji Fujiwara!]
Just seeing the photo sent an uncontrollable spark of heat through her lower belly, her breathing quickening ever so slightly. But in an instant, she regained her composed, mature demeanor. Desire vanished from her eyes, replaced by something colder and deeper.
Seduce him directly? No. Too stupid. A young man at the top of power like that would never lack women throwing themselves at him. She might still have her allure, but her youth was fading. Throwing herself at him would only get her used up and discarded like trash.
Her gaze flickered. She thought of her daughter, Mutsumi Wakaba. That child was as dull as a block of wood, but she had inherited every advantage from both parents, growing into something as exquisitely perfect as a porcelain doll. Pale skin, delicate features, and those emotionless, glassy eyes that carried a strange, fragile beauty... enough to awaken a man's desire to possess and destroy. More importantly, wasn't Mutsumi close with the Toyokawa family's daughter?
Minami's red lips curled. Sakiko Toyokawa was now Seiji Fujiwara's exclusive possession. Everyone in high society knew it. If Mutsumi went to rely on Sakiko, that old friendship would ensure she wasn't treated poorly. Resources and connections were secondary. What mattered most was... Minami's fingers traced lightly over Seiji's face on the magazine cover. With Mutsumi's looks, as long as she appeared before him, would a young, virile emperor really pass up such a delicate dessert placed right before him? If Mutsumi could climb into the most expensive bed in all of Japan, would she, as a mother, still worry about her future?
A cold, confident smile curved Minami Mori's lips. It seemed she needed to make a call to that taciturn daughter tonight.
…
…
Time stretched endlessly, then compressed to a single point.
Inside the abandoned warehouse, Seiji Fujiwara sat on one side, serene as a god, eyes closed in quiet rest. On the other side was Kengo Satou's team, frantic with excitement. Just five minutes ago, they had been drunks and failures waiting for death. Now, they were like madmen injected with massive doses of stimulants, eyes bloodshot, burning their lives away as they threw themselves back into research.
"Reactor A is heating! One hundred twenty degrees in thirty seconds!" "Centrifuge speed to twelve thousand! Don't worry about breaking it—let it explode if it has to!" "Catalyst! Number seven, exactly as on the board! Six decimal places! Anyone screws up, I'm throwing them out!"
There was no trace of the defeated drunk left in Satou. His cloudy eyes now burned with fanatic intensity. Failure? Disbanding? To hell with it. When you've got nothing left, what is there to fear? He'd gamble it all.
Reagents boiled in beakers with a low gurgle. The centrifuge screamed as it spun at high speed. Sweat soaked through their clothes. The sharp stench of chemicals filled the air. No one cared. All eyes were fixed on the glass reactor where the final synthesis step was underway. Hell, or heaven.
Bzzzz—
With a piercing buzz, the reactor's automated program shut down. The lab fell silent. Everyone stopped and held their breath, staring at the reactor. Had it worked? Or was this another failure?
[Read 50+ chapters ahead on Patreon: patreon.com/NiaXD]