The days after the feast of St. Munditia settled into a steady rhythm. Sebastian left early each morning for his duties, leaving the house quiet except for the occasional footsteps of Frau Huber in the kitchen. Aiko worked alone at the oak desk in the study, translating stack after stack of documents by the pale winter light that filtered through the tall windows. The new cardigan he had ordered for her lay draped over the back of her chair, a silent reminder of his quiet care.
She had grown used to the solitude. It gave her time to think — and to plan.
On the morning of 25 November 1943, while Sebastian was away, Aiko sat at the desk with fresh paper and ink. She worked carefully, not in haste. Using her precise knowledge of wartime Japanese diplomatic phrasing, she composed the forged letter in neat but slightly hurried script, as though written under pressure by an intelligence officer:
“Urgent transmission from Tokyo via Bern. Interrogation of captured American airman revealed planned major Allied air strike on Munich scheduled for the night of 24–25 April 1944. Primary targets: industrial districts, rail yards, and civilian areas in Schwabing and Altstadt. Expected force: combined RAF and USAAF heavy bombers. Recommend immediate increase in night fighter readiness and anti-aircraft preparations.”
She added a plausible Japanese name and rank, then deliberately smudged one corner and pressed a faint coffee-ring stain onto the edge to make it appear travel-worn. When she was satisfied, she folded the letter and slipped it between two genuine documents in the current translation pile.
77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPv4JiZ7NI0
That afternoon, when Sebastian returned, he sat across from her as usual to review the day’s work. Aiko waited until he had turned several pages before she “noticed” the letter.
“Sebastian,” she said calmly, sliding the paper toward him. “This was mixed in with the routine cables. I believe it is important.”
He picked it up. His blue eyes scanned the Japanese text first, then her German translation beneath it. His posture shifted — shoulders straightening, jaw tightening with focused intensity.
“This is… extremely specific,” he murmured. “Dates. Targets. Force composition.” He looked up at her, gaze sharp. “You found this yourself?”
“I was sorting the stack and it was there,” she answered evenly, meeting his eyes without hesitation. “Japanese intelligence would not send something like this lightly.”
Sebastian read the letter again, slower this time. The stern lines of his face remained, but something flickered behind the ice-blue eyes — calculation, genuine concern, and the first clear spark of respect for the quiet, capable woman sitting across from him.
“This is really important. If this is accurate,” he said, voice low and measured, “Munich has less than five months to prepare. Night fighters, flak batteries, civilian shelters… we must begin immediately.”
Aiko nodded once, her expression sober. “Then we should begin.”
He folded the letter carefully and slipped it into his tunic pocket. For a long moment he simply looked at her — not with the cold assessment of their first night, but with something deeper, almost searching. Suddenly, he pulled her close and hugged her.
“You're going to save many lives, our nation owes you a favor, Aiko Tanaka,” he said quietly, looking in her eyes.
She gently pulled herself away and offered a small, calm smile. “I only wish to be useful.”
Sebastian stood, but before he left the study he paused at the door. Without turning around he spoke again, softer than usual.
“Don't tell anyone this information, including Frau Huber. The new cardigan… it suits you.”
Then he was gone, boots echoing down the hallway as he went to make the first discreet inquiries that would, months from now, help save countless lives.
Aiko remained at the desk long after he had left. She stared at the stack of papers, but her mind was elsewhere.
She knew this feeling.
The hug. And when his fingertips had lingered against the back of her hand that evening after their walk, a quiet warmth had bloomed in her chest — the same warmth that had stirred the very first night they met. Even then, what had come stronger than fear after he lowered the pistol was this crush, this gentle stirring in her heart. His eyes… so blue like the sky over the Bavarian Alps. It wasn’t the cliché thing — she wasn’t one of those girls who simply loved blue eyes. There was a deeper reason. Those eyes had immediately reminded her of the cat she had grown up with, a cat with long white fur and blue eyes that had passed away when she was sixteen. That same calm, ethereal gaze that had always made her feel safe.
But she knew the history far too well. Unlike most civilians that time, she already knew about the Lebensborn program.
Somebody like Sebastian — tall, blonde, the living ideal of Aryan purity with his stern military face and impeccable posture — would never truly consider her. He was the Aryan top dog. She was non-Aryan, foreign, average. Nothing more than a bookworm girl with ordinary features, not the stunning beauty who could make a man like him question everything he had been taught. She felt even more inferior when she remembered her only boyfriend — the one who had preferred anime and isolation over her. If even an ordinary modern boy hadn’t truly feel for her, how could someone like Sebastian ever see her as more than a useful translator?
The realization settled heavily in her chest.
She would hide her feelings. She had to. From now on she would keep a careful distance — polite, professional, useful, but never too close. It was safer that way. For both of them.
Aiko exhaled slowly, picked up her pen, and returned to the next document.
She would help protect this city. She would help change the course of history.
But her heart… that quiet, hopeless crush… she would bury it deep where even Sebastian’s sky-blue eyes could never reach it.
77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIU6U9bXR40
77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtULUTFU7dt
and then Add to home screen.