Chapter 106: Shadow Veil Step (Ninth Watch)

The code "404" represents an absolute taboo!
If you don’t want to die, never cross this line.

In a way, this is because Meimu’s will to survive was strong—he didn’t want to be beaten to death!

Simply put, the 404 clause means that female orphans recruited into the Red Room are not forcibly sold or subjected to seduction.

Apart from that, the secret base known as the Red Room doesn’t differ much in function from other timelines—it trains female orphans to become operatives.

These orphans undergo rigorous combat training and genetic modifications that make them appear younger than their actual age. To ensure their loyalty to the organization, some fabricated memories are implanted.

Historically, Natalia—the one who later became Natasha—was implanted with memories of being a ballet dancer. Gradually, she grew into an exceptional spy. After a series of trials and tribulations, Natalia emerged victorious, earning the formidable title of the Black Widow.

Now, one might ask: can a female operative who hasn’t undergone seduction training truly be called an operative?

To this question, Meimu replied calmly, “Many things in this world cannot be solved by seduction. If concentration camps could be handled simply by beautiful women’s charms, then what use would there be for intelligence agencies and assault teams? Since I’m here, training will follow my methods.”

There were some things Meimu would never tell young Natalia.

He refused to employ seductive tactics, and naturally, the intelligence department wouldn’t force their Soviet hero to do otherwise.

As a result, history diverged here: the Russians established another secret base, the Black Room, dedicated exclusively to the training of 404-category operatives.

Of course, that was beyond Meimu’s jurisdiction.

Meimu pulled out another top-secret document from his drawer. When Natalia opened it, the title glaringly read: “Super Soldier Program (United States).”

After a quick glance, Natalia began to understand.

Meimu spoke casually:
“According to intelligence, not only the Yankees but also those calling themselves gentlemen and the Hans have initiated similar programs. We cannot fall behind. The Patriotic War has cost our country at least ten million young men. By war’s end, that number may double. Undeniably, the gender ratio will be severely imbalanced.”

“If it were simply about training glamorous spies, I wouldn’t be needed. There are plenty of such talents.”

“I’m here to push the Super Soldier Program.”

At that moment, Meimu produced another document.
“This is just a prototype.”

Natalia flipped it open to find the words “Winter Soldier Program.” The contents were still rather vague.

“Will injecting those serums make me stronger?” Natalia asked, puzzled.

Meimu shrugged. “As far as I know, the related gene serums are still imperfect. We need more time for the scientists. So far, they can only delay aging and preserve youth in certain genes. In fact, many have unfortunately died within hours of injection.”

The Russians were ruthless in this regard—merciless to enemies and even to their own people.

To the higher-ups, soldiers were no different from bullets: mere expendables.

“When will I inherit your legacy?”

“When you earn the highest title in this new organization—the Black Widow…”

There is such a thing in this world as prestige.

If it’s thrown around casually, it loses all meaning. When asked if Meimu’s skills could be mass-produced, he simply retorted, “Would it still be ‘super’ if super soldiers were mass-produced?”

Backed by Stalin, Meimu feared nothing.

He also didn’t meddle in other matters—didn’t care if political commissars tried to brainwash him, nor if scientists implanted false memories into Natalia.

This hands-off attitude earned him high respect among the intelligence personnel.

They almost treated him as a mascot—until one day.

When Meimu made a symbolic inspection of the female orphans’ training, he was stopped.

There stood a striking girl with golden short hair, a typical Russian appearance, clad in a black tight suit that revealed sculpted six-pack abs.

“Greetings, Chief. I hear you are the head instructor of the Red Room. But I have already defeated all the other instructors. May I be so bold as to seek your guidance, or perhaps witness your skills firsthand?”

“Enough! Show respect to the Chief!” a bruised instructor shouted angrily.

“The Chief went deep into Berlin for the great Red cause…” another instructor began, only to be cut off by the proud golden-haired girl.

“I know, I know! I’ve heard it a hundred times. This is combat training; isn’t it only natural to ask the Chief for some pointers?” the girl retorted with a smirk.

Meimu’s interest was piqued. He noticed Natalia nearby, intently watching the girl.

Oh? It seemed the future Black Widow had met her match.

It was thought that aside from Natalia, the rest were mediocre—yet here was a hidden gem.

“Cadet, state your name!”

“I am Yelena Belova!”

As a Marvel movie enthusiast, Meimu surprisingly had no immediate reaction to the name.

Was she just a nobody?

Nonetheless, he didn’t mind sparring a little.

“Don’t worry, Chief, I won’t attack your injured hand,” Yelena said, adopting a fighting stance.

The instructors looked on with a mix of anger and disbelief.

This was outright disrespect.

Meimu tapped his powerless right arm calmly. “Oh? Then you need to be worth my effort.”

Yelena, about fourteen, brimming with youthful arrogance, hissed lightly and launched herself forward.

Meimu’s first thought was: she’s fast.

Her slim, athletic figure became a streak of black and gold light.

Such speed was near human limit.

Her straightforward punch was nothing flashy—just fast, too fast for the naked eye to follow.

In Meimu’s perspective, her youthful fist rapidly expanded—then swung through empty air.

She was fast, but Meimu was faster—like a flash, she couldn’t see where he was.

Almost instinctively, she twisted her head and body, but found only emptiness behind her. Yet her strong combat instincts told her Meimu was close by.

She executed a near-muscle-limit maneuver: snapping her head left while halting abruptly, then swiftly turning right while twisting her head.

Still, she saw nothing.

At that moment, everyone nearby let out involuntary gasps.

A warm breath suddenly brushed her ear from the back—where no one should have been—stirring her golden hair against her neck.

In that instant, Yelena screamed, “Ah—”