Fukushima Prefecture — several workers were carefully shoveling away the top layer of soil near the nuclear power plant, sealing the contaminated dirt into woven plastic bags. That soil had been heavily tainted by radioactive dust from the accident, far exceeding safety limits.
They wore white protective suits made of high-density polyethylene and respirators that muffled their breathing. For every hour they worked, they were granted two hours of rest.
"Let's go, Nakagawa. Break time," said Shimada, glancing at his watch as he set down his shovel and waved for the others to follow. Even though the Ministry of Health, Labour and Welfare had raised the legal radiation exposure limit for plant workers tenfold, they still couldn't stay on-site for too long.
Their rest area was an old building from the original power plant. The men collapsed to the floor as soon as they entered, tearing off their protective suits and masks. A growing mountain of discarded suits already lay piled by the door.
The workers naturally divided themselves into three distinct groups.
The older men with graying hair sat together — they were employees or contractors from TEPCO, either nearing retirement or already retired, who had volunteered or been pressured into joining the cleanup effort.
The younger ones huddled in another corner, sharing cigarettes. They were temporary workers from poor regions, drawn here by the promise of higher pay.
The third group was easy to spot — men with tattoos snaking down their arms, a few missing their little fingers. They were gangsters or debtors forced to work off what they owed to the yakuza.
The building was silent except for the sound of labored breathing. Working in those suits and respirators drained every ounce of energy; everyone sat in exhausted stillness, just trying to recover.
A four-masted sailing ship was docked nearby, serving as a supply base and temporary rest facility for the workers. It had originally been bound for Honolulu for a cadet training voyage, but had been requisitioned for this special task. The ship had its own generators, fresh water, and provisions meant for the trainee sailors.
Several workers were eating in the ship's galley — the only place they could enjoy a hot meal and take a proper shower afterward in the washroom at the stern.
Suddenly, frantic footsteps pounded down the corridor, and a crewman burst through the door, half-falling inside.
"T-the sea… something's happening out at sea!"
Chaos erupted instantly.
"Another tsunami?!" someone shouted.
Many of them had survived the previous one — the roaring wall of water that had obliterated everything along the coast — a nightmare that still haunted them.
Within minutes, everyone crowded onto the deck, staring out at the ocean in fear.
A shockwave was spreading across the distant water, carving a rolling white wall into the calm surface. Even from several kilometers away, it was clearly visible — something was moving beneath the waves at terrifying speed, racing toward the shore.
Nothing human or machine should've been able to move that fast underwater.
"What the hell is that? A Russian torpedo?"
Judging by its speed, it would reach the harbor in moments.
"Move! Get the ship out of here, now!" a sailor screamed.
But the training vessel was slow to respond — it took precious minutes to hoist the sails. They had no time.
BOOM!
The entire ship split apart as the shockwave hit. The wooden hull twisted and shattered under the crushing force, splintering like a toy. The surviving crew were hurled into the sea like dumplings dropped into boiling water.
They were caught in the violent currents — most wouldn't live to resurface.
Norman Osborn stepped onto the shore, staring toward the nuclear plant. The air was thick with radioactive dust, and he found the sensation… invigorating. His long tail flicked once, sending a gale sweeping tens of meters across the ground.
Then, with a flex of his powerful hind legs, his massive body blurred into motion — a black shadow slicing through the air. The sheer speed compressed the atmosphere around him into a milky-white shock cone.
In the blink of an eye, Norman Osborn slammed into Reactor No. 1's outer steel shell. The reinforced structure groaned and twisted, then tore apart under the impact.
The entire top of the reactor vessel blew open.
The workers had recently repaired the seawater pumps to try cooling the fuel rods inside, but now the reactor basin was filled with highly radioactive water.
Norman Osborn bent down and drank deeply, gulping the glowing water like a beast at a trough. The radioactive materials were absorbed through his stomach lining, converted into energy, and stored within the electric cells beneath his skin.
"What… what is that thing?"
The resting workers, hearing the crash, ran outside — and froze at the sight of Norman Osborn's colossal form half-emerged from the reactor housing.
"It's trying to steal the reactor core!" shouted Shimada, a former electrical engineer at the plant, instantly understanding its intent.
"Quick! Call the Self-Defense Force!"
But communication in Fukushima was still limited; the cleanup crew was almost cut off from the outside world. They only saw outdated newspapers on the ship — none of them even recognized who Norman Osborn was.
"Are you stupid, Shimada? The SDF won't come! Did you forget how useless they were after the tsunami? We have to run!"
Nakagawa yanked Shimada's arm, terror plain on his face. After the disaster, his trust in the military had long since evaporated. As for the others — the moment they saw the monster, they bolted. The gangsters ran the fastest, sprinting out of the plant grounds within minutes.
Inside the reactor, the cooling water level dropped rapidly. The temperature soared, hot enough to cook flesh. Scalding steam billowed up, condensing into white clouds that were visible for kilometers.
The molten reactor core glowed like magma, eating away at the fifteen-centimeter-thick steel floor beneath it.
The steel turned red-hot where it met the core.
The narrow chamber barely contained Norman Osborn's bulk, like a bear too large to squeeze into a beehive — only this bear could tear the hive apart.
His muscular tail swept once, smashing through a concrete wall. With his two front claws, he ripped away pipes, valves, and structural supports, dismantling the reactor piece by piece.
He hollowed it out almost completely before forcing his way inside, his eyes gleaming with greed as he stared at the luminous reactor core.
The energy contained within that heart of uranium far surpassed the nuclear warhead he'd devoured in North Dakota.
If he could consume all the cores in this facility, his power would surge once again.
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(End of Chapter)