With three superpowers at his fingertips, he could dominate the 1970s.

Seiichi Fukuda noticed something was wrong at six in the morning.

He is the seventh head of the Fukuda family. He is over sixty years old, thin but with a strong presence. His long, narrow eyes are always half-closed, as if he is scrutinizing everyone who comes near him.

Every morning at six o'clock, he would spend an hour in his study, going through the documents in the secret room. This had been his habit for thirty years, without fail.

Today was the same. He noticed something was missing from the bedroom, but didn't think much of it.

He pushed open the study door, walked to the bookshelf, and touched the spine of the book with his fingers.

The mechanism clicked. The bookshelf slid open silently.

Seiichi Fukuda stepped into the secret room—

Then he stopped.

The shelves were empty.

It was spotless and tidy, without even a trace of dust, as if nothing had ever been left in this secret room.

Seiichi Fukuda thought he had gone to the wrong place.

He stepped back out and checked the mechanism again; it was correct. He went back in and reached out to touch the shelf. His fingertips touched cold, clean wooden planks—nothing there.

His hands began to tremble.

The decades-long spy network, geological data from other countries, complete records of bacterial experiments, lists of informants, and details of fund flows—if these materials fall into the hands of other governments, the Fukuda family's underground network, which they have operated in other countries for half a century, will be completely destroyed.

Even more frightening is that once the original records of those bacterial and human experiments are exposed, the Fukuda family's political and business standing in Xiao Rijia will collapse instantly.

Those resumes that were whitewashed after the war can't withstand this level of scandal.

"Guards!"

His voice echoed in the secret room, hoarse and violent.

The butler rushed over upon hearing the noise, and his face turned deathly pale upon seeing the state of the secret room.

"Who was on duty last night?! Bring everyone who was on duty here!"

Ten minutes later, eight ninjas knelt on the study floor, their foreheads pressed against the ground, not daring to move.

Seiichi Fukuda sat in the chair, his knuckles clenched so tightly they turned white.

"Was anyone entering or leaving the mansion last night?"

"Go home, Lord. No."

The lead ninja's voice trembled slightly:

"All visible and concealed sentries are functioning normally, patrol logs are complete, and no signs of intrusion have been found."

"No one's coming in?"

Seiichi Fukuda's voice was so low that it was even more terrifying than if he had shouted it out.

"Where is it? Where did it go?!"

The eight ninjas trembled, and none of them could answer.

They truly saw nothing and heard nothing. Overnight, all the documents in the innermost chamber of the mansion vanished into thin air, and they didn't even know when it happened.

Seiichi Fukuda suddenly stood up, his chair sliding back half a meter before hitting the wall with a thud.

"waste!"

His hands had stopped trembling. Instead, they were filled with anger. He'd been trampled on and shit on, and he didn't even know who it was?

"Seal off the entire residence. Notify Beichen to evacuate all personnel currently outside."

He paused, his voice barely audible, as if squeezed out from between his teeth: "And—call the police."

The butler hesitated for a moment: "Master, if we call the police..."

"I know."

Calling the police means they will get involved, and it means that something can no longer be hidden.

But if he doesn't call the police, his men won't be able to find the person who broke in, and they won't even know how the other person got in. What's the point of looking for them?

He must rely on external forces.

As for those things you don't want outsiders to see... let's focus on the present. What's the point of hiding them now that they're gone?

Seiichi Fukuda closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

More than thirty years. He spent more than thirty years weaving this net, only to have it uprooted overnight, leaving not a single hair behind.

And the other party didn't even leave a trace.

---

The streets of Tokyo have been anything but peaceful since the morning.

The first to notice the unusual activity were the local shopkeepers. There were many unfamiliar faces on the street, dressed in dark suits, loitering in twos and threes at the main intersections, their eyes constantly scanning the pedestrians.

Not a police officer.

By noon, the news had already spread among the citizens.

"Have you heard? Something happened to the Fukuda family."

"What is it?"

"I don't know, but I heard their family has been searching the whole city since early this morning. My cousin runs a food stall on that street, and he said several people came this morning and searched the shop inside and out, asking him if he had seen anyone suspicious last night."

"The Fukuda family? You mean the Fukuda family that runs the port?"

"It's not just the port... they have so much business. I heard it was a burglary; something very important was stolen from their house."

"A thief broke in? A house like the Fukuda's could be broken into? They employ more people than police officers—"

"That's why it's so scary. The person who went in didn't even notice the family members. What kind of thief is that?"

The rumors spread far and wide, with more and more versions emerging. Some said the stolen items were antiques, others said confidential documents, and still others said someone had set fire to the house.

By the afternoon, it had evolved into the absurd version that "a peerless master infiltrated the Fukuda family."

There were fewer pedestrians on the street than usual, and fewer people were shopping. Some shops even closed early, probably to avoid trouble when the Fukuda family came to "inspect" the area.

---

At the Metropolitan Police Department, the pressure came on faster than expected.

Seiichi Fukuda made the call himself, not to the local police station, but directly to the top brass of the Metropolitan Police Department. The pressure from a powerful family head who had cultivated deep roots in both political and business circles for decades was far more significant than that from an ordinary case.

At 10 a.m., a team of detectives was dispatched to the Fukuda residence.

The team was led by a veteran detective from the Metropolitan Police Department's First Investigation Division, a man with over twenty years of experience who had seen it all. But the moment he stepped into the Fukuda residence, he sensed something was off about the atmosphere.

It's too quiet.

A dozen or so men in black stood in the courtyard, their expressions blank and their eyes wary. The butler led him through the corridor to the study, where Fukuda Seiichi was already sitting and waiting.

"Mr. Fukuda,"

The veteran detective took out his notebook.

"You said important documents were stolen. Could you specify which documents?"

Fukuda Makoto looked at him and remained silent for three seconds.

"Trade secrets, geological exploration data, lists of partners, and some internal communications."

His voice was too calm.

The veteran detective paused for a moment. He noticed that everything Fukuda Seiichi said avoided the most crucial issue.

He had a plan in mind.

He will probably never know the real list of thefts in this case.

"Were there any signs of forced entry at the scene? Doors, windows, locks, hidden compartments?"

"No."

"What about the surveillance footage?"

"There is no surveillance." Fukuda Seiichi's tone remained calm, but a faint hint of malice flashed in his eyes.

The veteran detective closed his notebook.

There were no signs of forced entry, no surveillance cameras, and the security personnel didn't notice anything unusual. Everything had vanished into thin air. This was no ordinary burglary.

But he couldn't say that; in front of Seiichi Fukuda, he could only follow the procedure.

"We will investigate thoroughly. Please notify us immediately if you have any leads."

Fukuda Makoto nodded slightly, showing no intention of seeing the guest off.

The veteran detective stepped out of the mansion, stood on the steps, lit a cigarette, and took a deep drag.

He'd worked in this field for over twenty years and had never seen such a clean-cut unsolved case. Not a single detail was left behind; it was as if the documents had grown legs and run away on their own.

He glanced back at the mansion.

High walls, black pines, and flying eaves.

The waters in this house were much deeper than he had imagined. And all he could probably detect was the layer of foam on the surface.

At the same time, in a hotel in Hengb.

Jiang Zhiyu sat by the window, looking at the Tokyo skyline in the distance, holding a cup of hot tea in her hand.

In front of her lay some of the documents that had been moved from Fukuda's secret room. Seventeen had already sorted them out by category, but it wasn't over yet.

She also looked through the records of the bacterial experiments. After reading them, she remained silent for a long time before closing the file and putting it away in the deepest part of her space.

Some things, you only need to see them once.