Doubts

Late in the afternoon, after meeting with Takizawa, Asakura and Mishima sat in silence as they rode a taxi back through the city. Even though they had left the research facility behind, the words Takizawa had spoken about the development of LX-301 echoed in their minds like a stubborn refrain.

Outside the window, the city buildings flowed past like a slow-moving film. Inside the car, the only sounds were the steady hum of the air conditioning and the occasional clipped voice from a news report on the radio. Mishima looked like he was about to speak—but thought better of it, falling back into silence.

When the taxi stopped in front of St. Louis International Hospital, both men offered a quiet thank you and stepped out. The summer evening sky was tinged red, its hue reflecting softly against the hospital’s glass façade.

They paused in the plaza before the entrance, neither saying a word. Finally, Asakura broke the silence.

“After everything Takizawa told us… are you convinced there’s nothing wrong with the manufacturing process for LX-301?”

Mishima hesitated, then slowly shook his head. “I don’t know. But he seemed confident.”

“I agree. His explanation made sense on a technical level. But still… something doesn’t sit right.”

“You mean the part where he claimed the dual enzyme treatment makes it completely safe?”

“Exactly. He said there’s nothing to worry about. But in this world, nothing is ever guaranteed.”

Mishima looked down. “So… are we stopping here, Dr. Asakura?”

Asakura closed his eyes for just a second before answering.

“No. Not yet. If we stop now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. For the sake of people like Takako Sugihara—people who hold on to hope—we have to keep going.”

Mishima nodded, but the agreement brought him no relief.

“Still… I’m exhausted tonight.”

“Yeah. Let’s put this aside for now. We’ll regroup tomorrow.”

They went their separate ways.

As Mishima walked down the still-warm evening streets, he tried to identify the haze clinging to his thoughts. It wasn’t just medical doubt—it was something deeper, more instinctual. Like a primal sense that someone was hiding something. That sensation crawled beneath his skin.

Asakura, heading home on his own, was also lost in thought. Takizawa’s eyes, that moment of hesitation—there was meaning there. Something just out of reach. But he was sure: the clue they needed was close. And so, he faded into the night, chasing that thread of truth.

Traces

Mishima’s residence was a dorm shared with other medical residents. The hallway was lined with identical rooms, leading to a small common area where a single long bench sat beneath a television.

Mishima turned on the TV, not because he wanted to watch anything in particular, but simply to occupy his restless mind.

A news report was playing. “Today, pop singer ○○ was arrested for illegal drug possession...” the anchor announced, followed by footage detailing the events that led to the arrest.

Mishima’s gaze sharpened as the anchor continued in a cool, detached tone:

“...While the urine test came back negative, a hair analysis confirmed a history of stimulant use.”

Something clicked in Mishima’s brain.

"...Hair..."

He muttered the word aloud. He knew that hair could retain evidence of drug use long after it entered the body. Hair acted as a kind of physiological record.

A hypothesis began to form.

—If that’s true for narcotics, wouldn’t it also apply to clinical trial drugs like LX-301?

If so...

Then traces of the substance that may have caused the malignant tumors might still exist somewhere inside the body.

Mishima’s eyes narrowed.

“...The substance that causes the tumors... what exactly is it?”

His thoughts began to race.

Patients P, Q, and R had all developed tumors in different organs after receiving LX-301. But all three had undergone surgery, and the removed tissues had been preserved in pathology.

“...That’s right. The excised organs—those samples still exist!”

His heart pounded.

Physical proof.

The key could be in those pathology specimens.

“Could it be... SV40?”

Takizawa’s voice echoed in his mind:

“...a structure similar to the SV40 virus, used as a promoter for transcription factors...”

A virus-like structure.

A switch.

A runaway accelerator.

If it had malfunctioned and triggered growth in unintended cells...

“I have to find out.”

Mishima stood.

He inhaled deeply and turned off the TV. Silence returned to the common room.

He hurried down the hallway and into his room, grabbing his smartphone from the desk.

Without hesitation, he tapped the name on the screen: Soichi Asakura.

Even as the phone rang, Mishima’s thoughts didn’t stop.

—If there are SV40 traces in those samples, it could be the key to unraveling the entire cover-up.

The ringing stopped. Asakura picked up.

“Dr. Asakura, can you talk right now? There’s something I need to confirm, urgently.”

Mishima’s voice trembled with urgency.

“If—if that SV40-like structure from the LX-301 trials is still present in the patients’ tumor tissues—it’s not just a theory anymore. It’s evidence!”

“Slow down!” Asakura’s sharp voice cut in.

“You’re talking like a machine gun, Mishima.”

There was a faint chuckle, but then his voice turned serious again.

“Still... what you just said—yes. That’s it. You’re onto something.”

A pause.

“Then let me ask you, Dr. Mishima... what’s the first thing we absolutely have to do?”

“Uh… ask Takizawa to test the three samples for traces of SV40, right?”

“No.”

Asakura’s answer was swift and resolute.

“The samples themselves.”

“...What?”

“We must secure those three samples ourselves. Make sure they don’t fall into the wrong hands. Protect them—no matter what. Analysis comes after.”

Mishima blinked, stunned. But then, realization hit him like a key finally clicking into place.

Those samples might be the only place the truth still existed.

If they were stolen or destroyed, the chance to expose everything would be lost.

Mishima understood now—Asakura was working from the assumption that P, Q, and R had received the real drug.

“Right. So first, we protect them. Then we prove the truth.”

Asakura added, “But the samples are frozen and stored in pathology. Because they're part of a clinical trial, they may be in a special restricted area. We may not have easy access. I’ll speak with Dr. Ashiya from surgery first thing tomorrow.”

“Got it.”

Their thoughts were perfectly in sync.

After the call, Mishima took a deep breath and slowly set the phone down on his desk.

Asakura’s last words echoed in his chest:

‘There should be paraffin-fixed samples, but there’s also likely fresh tissue in cryogenic storage. That frozen sample—we must protect it above all else.’

In that moment, the tangled doubts in Mishima’s heart began to unravel.

That lingering sense of unease—the idea that something dark and powerful was moving in the background—was no longer just a suspicion.

It was a fact.

“Asakura-sensei feels it too...” he murmured.

“Something unknown is working in the shadows. Someone powerful wants that frozen sample.”

And they were willing to erase the truth to get it.

There was no more room for doubt.

Mishima’s eyes burned with quiet resolve.

“Then we can’t afford to lose.”

“This fight is one of wits and conviction.”

Their enemies had power—money, influence, access to information, and the ability to manipulate fear itself.

But he and Asakura had something stronger:

A shared purpose.

A single, unshakable axis—

To protect the truth.

Mishima drew a breath, closed his eyes, and steeled himself for the battle ahead.