Himawari Wa Yoru Ni Saku -

A pale green curl, no bigger than a fingernail, pushing up through the soil. Oriko knelt beside it, her breath fogging the cold air. She touched the stem. It was warm.

She didn't report it.

By the end of the month, the entire sub-level was a forest of glowing sunflowers, their soft radiance filtering up through the grating, spilling into the lower corridors. People began to notice. At first, they were afraid — the arcology had taught them to fear anything that grew without permission. But fear turned to curiosity, and curiosity to wonder. Himawari Wa Yoru Ni Saku

On the twenty-first night, it bloomed.

The buds had appeared on the stem's branches overnight, and now they opened in sequence — first one, then another, then another — until the plant was crowned with a dozen soft, glowing blooms. The light reached the walls now, pushing back the shadows. Oriko noticed something strange. The concrete around the pot was cracking. Tiny green shoots were pushing through — weeds, she thought at first, but no. They were more sunflowers. Dozens of them. Sprouting from the dead floor. A pale green curl, no bigger than a

Oriko turned off her headlamp.

Oriko knew this. She had the radiation burns on her knuckles to prove it. She worked the night shift, tending crops that would never see the light — genetically modified tubers, pale fungi, things that thrived on darkness and chemical drip. It was honest work. It was hopeless work. It was warm

But one month ago, she found the seed.