Episode 3

Years had passed, but the trail of the woman who carried his seed remained a mystery that suffocated Diego's chest. Every time the memory surfaced, his anger burned uncontrollably.

In his cold-toned office, Diego stood frozen before a giant glass window, watching the rain pouring down on the city of Milan. His fingers clenched tightly, his jaw hardened, reflecting the unbearable inner turmoil.

"Six years," he muttered. "My seed has been missing for six years, and no one has been able to uncover its whereabouts?"

Alana, his cousin who now worked as a renowned doctor, could only look at Diego with a resigned expression from the chair across the desk.

"Diego, I've told you repeatedly. The old data in that laboratory has been deleted. You can't keep blaming the world for one system error," Alana said gently.

"System error?" Diego turned around with a gaze as sharp as an eagle's. "This isn't just a system error, Alana. This is a crime. Someone has stolen my seed, and if that woman managed to give birth... that child is now six years old."

Diego's cold gaze made Alana sigh deeply.

"So, what do you want to do?" Alana asked, giving in to her cousin's stubbornness. "You've mobilized everyone to look for her. You even intimidated the director of the laboratory to the point of almost killing him. But the result is nil."

Diego paced restlessly, then stopped in front of his desk.

"I won't give up. I want you to retrace the data from six years ago. Whoever had access to the storage room at that time, I want to know their identity," Diego ordered in an undeniable tone.

Alana massaged her temples, trying to relieve the throbbing that was starting to set in. "You know, it would be easier if you released a new seed and stored it again. At least, there's a guarantee for your future."

"Do you think I'm the same as any other man?!" Diego exclaimed.

Alana looked at Diego with deep concern. She knew very well that her cousin harbored a deeply rooted trauma.

At the age of thirty, Diego was unable to touch any woman. The emotional wounds of his past were too deep, causing him to avoid all forms of physical intimacy.

"I won't do it again," Diego said flatly. "Once is enough. That seed is the only one that belongs to me. And I will find it. Unless I find a woman I can touch and enjoy to my heart's content."

"Alright. But don't let this obsession destroy you, Diego." Alana raised both hands, a sign that she was giving up.

The man didn't answer. He just looked back out the window with his eyes narrowed sharply.

Meanwhile, in a simple rented house on the outskirts of the city, there was a slight commotion. Of course, it was their daily morning routine.

"Alex! Please, don't use Mama's pot to boil water again!" Elise shouted from the living room.

The sound of clinking spoons and the aroma of fried onions wafted from the narrow kitchen. The six-year-old boy stood on a small chair, stirring rice in a wok with a serious expression like a professional chef.

"If Mama could cook, I wouldn't have to do this," Alex replied without turning around.

Elise snorted. "Mama is busy working. Besides, instant noodles are food, right?"

Alex stopped what he was doing, then looked at his mother standing in the kitchen doorway with her arms crossed.

"Fast food doesn't contain nutrients, Mama. You know that. You haven't even eaten vegetables for the last three days. That's why Mama's skin looks pale," Alex said with concern.

Elise rolled her eyes. "Are you a doctor? So fussy!"

"The child of someone who seems very intelligent," Alex replied casually, making Elise silent for a moment.

Her heart trembled, mixed with pride and fear. Sometimes, Alex's words were too sharp for a child his age.

"Okay, Mama just sit down. I'm almost done," Alex said then, busily turning on the small flame again.

A few minutes later, the appetizing aroma of fried rice filled the entire kitchen. Elise looked at it in amazement.

"Where did you learn to cook like this?"

"From the internet. I used the simplest recipe, but I modified it a bit to make it taste more complex."

Elise snorted softly. "Listen to that... complex. A six-year-old boy talking like a chef."

Alex looked at his mother expressionlessly. "I don't want Mama to keep eating carelessly. If Mama gets sick, who will take care of me?"

Elise fell silent. That simple sentence pierced the depths of her heart. She looked at her son who was now placing a plate on the dining table, his face cold but his eyes held deep affection.