July in Osaka brought waves of sweltering heat.
The wind blowing in from the Seto Inland Sea offered no relief. It carried only humid, salty warmth mixed with the acrid stench of industrial exhaust. The car rolled along the road toward the Minato Ward industrial park, where the scenery outside the window consisted of gray chimneys, massive oil storage tanks, and cranes swinging frantically.
This was the beating heart of the Japanese economy—full of raw power, yet brimming with restlessness.
Saionji Shuichi sat in the back seat, rhythmically tapping a folding fan against his knee. He wore a dark gray linen suit despite the heat, his collar buttoned tightly and his back perfectly straight.
"Satsuki," Shuichi said, his voice steady as he gazed at the dense clusters of scaffolding outside, "what do you see?"
Satsuki sat beside her father, holding an analysis report on land prices in Osaka's industrial zones. She wore a light blue dress today, the picture of a well-behaved daughter accompanying her father on an outing.
"I see 'anxiety,' Father." Satsuki closed the report, her gaze calm. "Every machine here is running at overcapacity, and every truck is speeding. Everyone is racing forward as if stopping for even a second would mean being swallowed by the monster behind them."
Shuichi turned to look at his daughter, a flicker of admiration in his eyes.
"You're right. It's called 'overheating.'" Shuichi sighed. "Kenjirou is a product of this anxiety. He's too desperate to prove himself, too eager to shed the label of the 'branch family.' In good times, that mindset is a powerful engine. In bad times… it becomes a death warrant."
He reached out and gently patted his daughter's head.
"Though you are the lead in today's play, the Saionji family's dignity must be maintained before outsiders. If Kenjirou goes too far, I will rein him in. You just watch from the side and learn how to manage such ambitious subordinates."
Satsuki nodded obediently, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Yes, Father. I will learn well."
At this moment, Shuichi was no longer the middle-aged man who had once worried over a few hundred million yen in his study. He was an old lion whose claws were retracted but still possessed a fierce sense of territory.
This was exactly the ally Satsuki wanted.
The car entered the construction site, greeted by the deafening sound of gongs and drums.
Red flags fluttered everywhere, and dozens of giant balloons floated in the air, their banners proudly declaring: "Saionji Heavy Industries: A Bridge to the World."
Kenjirou, dressed in a shiny silver-gray suit, stood at the end of a red carpet with a flushed face. The moment the main family's car stopped, he strode forward, followed by a crowd of bowing contractors and local councilors.
"Big Brother! Head of the House!"
Kenjirou's voice boomed, tinged with open boasting. "Look at this grandeur! Everything was arranged according to MITI inspection standards! Well? I haven't shamed the Saionji family, have I?"
He reached out, intending to pat Shuichi's shoulder as if they were equals.
Shuichi did not dodge. He simply stood there, his indifferent gaze sweeping over Kenjirou's outstretched hand before he tilted his chin slightly toward the factory skeleton rising behind them.
The gesture was subtle, yet it carried unmistakable condescending scrutiny.
Kenjirou's hand froze in mid-air, unsure whether to complete the pat or pull back.
"Kenjirou," Shuichi finally spoke, his tone unhurried. "No matter how grand the display, it is ultimately just a facade. If the foundation is hollow, it will collapse at the first gust of wind. Every brick and tile here was paid for with money borrowed under the main family's guarantee."
The words were not loud, but they landed like a bucket of cold water, instantly dousing Kenjirou's feverish excitement.
The cheering crowd fell silent. Everyone suddenly remembered that no matter how successful Kenjirou appeared, the title deeds to this land and the bank guarantees still bore the seal of "Saionji Shuichi."
A muscle in Kenjirou's face twitched. He awkwardly withdrew his hand with a forced laugh. "Big Brother is right to lecture me. But don't worry—once this batch of orders is finished, we won't just pay off the loans. We'll be able to buy two more plots of land!"
He turned to Satsuki, trying to change the subject. "Oh, Satsuki is here too! Quick, Uncle has saved the best seat for you!"
Satsuki put on a perfectly timed look of admiration and curtsied while holding her skirt. "Uncle is so amazing. Such a big factory—it's like a castle."
"Haha! Satsuki has the best eye!" Kenjirou regained some face and waved grandly. "Come! I'll take you to meet my benefactor, Mr. Smith from America!"
The groundbreaking ceremony itself was unremarkable—shoveling dirt, cutting ribbons, and shouting slogans.
Throughout, Shuichi maintained a reserved smile, neither cold nor overly enthusiastic. He stood like a stabilizing pillar. As long as he was present, no matter how much Kenjirou pranced around, he looked more like a busy butler than the true master.
After the ceremony, the group moved to a temporary VIP lounge.
The air conditioning blasted cool air, and the table was lined with expensive champagne.
Smith, the American procurement representative, was a typical Texas redneck—burly and loud-voiced.
"Sai-on-ji!" Smith toasted in broken Japanese. "Good job! If you can get those five million sets of gardening tools to Seattle by November, Walmart's shelves will be all yours next year!"
Kenjirou triumphantly pulled a thick contract from his briefcase and handed it to Shuichi. "Big Brother, look. This is the deal I nearly drank myself to death to secure! The down payment has already been wired—thirty percent!"
Shuichi took the contract without letting the figure go to his head. He put on his glasses and began reading carefully.
The lounge gradually fell silent. Kenjirou fidgeted impatiently, feeling that his brother was deliberately searching for faults.
"Kenjirou," Shuichi finally closed the contract, his brow furrowed. "Five million sets, delivered in three months? Even if the current production lines run at full capacity, they can barely manage three million. Where do you plan to conjure the remaining two million?"
"Outsourcing!" Kenjirou said matter-of-factly. "I've contacted over a dozen small factories around Osaka to subcontract the parts. We'll handle final assembly here. The profit margin is a bit thinner, but the volume is huge!"
"Outsourcing?" Shuichi's eyes sharpened. "How will you control quality? These products are for export to the US. If there's a quality issue…"
"Oh, Big Brother! You're being too cautious!" Kenjirou waved it off dismissively. "They're just gardening trowels, not precision instruments! As long as they can dig dirt, Americans aren't that picky."
At that moment, Satsuki—who had been sitting quietly sipping orange juice—suddenly set down her glass.
She pointed to a line of small print on the penultimate page of the contract.
"Uncle," her voice was clear and exceptionally distinct in the quiet room. "What does this term mean? 'Liquidated Damages'?"
Hearing the words, Smith raised an eyebrow and looked at the doll-like young girl with some surprise.
Kenjirou blinked and answered casually, "Oh, that. It just means we pay a fine if we're late. It's standard business practice."
"But…" Satsuki tilted her head, reading the numbers with an innocent expression. "It says here that if delivery is more than fifteen days late, we have to pay three hundred percent of the total contract value… And if the quality inspection failure rate exceeds one percent, it's also three hundred percent."
She looked up, her large eyes blinking at Kenjirou. "Uncle, can those small outsourced factories really guarantee that every single trowel meets the standard? If one box breaks, would we have to give the whole factory to Uncle Smith?"
Those words were like a needle, precisely popping the balloon labeled "get rich quick."
Shuichi's face darkened instantly. He had been so focused on the production capacity clauses that he had almost missed this insanely harsh penalty clause.
A three-hundred-percent penalty. This wasn't a business deal—it was signing away one's life!
"Kenjirou!" Shuichi slammed the table, his voice filled with genuine fury. "You dared to sign a clause like this? Are you worried the Saionji family isn't dying fast enough?!"
Kenjirou was startled by the roar, then turned defensive out of embarrassment. "Big Brother! What do you know! Mr. Smith said this is the standard template for major clients! Walmart is a huge company—of course they have many rules. As long as we deliver on time and the quality is good, this is just a piece of scrap paper! Can you stop being afraid of everything? In business, the most important thing is boldness! If we listened to you and never took risks, the Saionji family would have starved to death long ago!"
Although Smith couldn't understand the argument, he guessed the gist from their expressions. He shrugged and said in English, "Mr. Kenjirou, risk and reward go hand in hand."
Kenjirou immediately switched to a fawning smile and bowed to Smith. "Yes! Yes! No problem!"
Watching his brother's sycophantic yet crazed expression, Shuichi's anger suddenly subsided.
It was replaced by total disappointment.
He was beyond saving.
This man had been blinded by greed. Even if a bottomless abyss lay ahead, he would jump into it with pride.
Shuichi took a deep breath, removed his glasses, and rubbed his temples.
"Fine." His voice became unnervingly calm. "Since you operate independently and are responsible for your own profits and losses, then you are on your own."
He stood up, not even glancing at Smith, and took Satsuki's hand.
"Satsuki, let's go."
…
On the train ride back.
It was a private compartment, occupied only by Shuichi and Satsuki.
Outside, the setting sun dyed the entire Osaka plain blood-red. In the distance, continuous rows of factories spewed black smoke like a pack of steel beasts feeding.
Shuichi stared out the window, remaining silent for a long time.
"Father," Satsuki broke the silence, elegantly peeling a tangerine. "Are you worried about Uncle?"
"Worried?" Shuichi scoffed and turned his head. "I'm worried that when he dies, the blood will splatter too far and soil the main family's clothes."
He accepted a segment of the tangerine Satsuki offered and put it in his mouth. The sweet-and-sour juice burst across his tongue.
"Satsuki, that contract… you pointed it out on purpose, didn't you?" Shuichi looked at his daughter with a sharp gaze. "You saw it was poison long ago."
Satsuki wiped her hands, not denying it. She leaned back against the seat, her usually childlike clear eyes now appearing deep and profound.
"If we hadn't let him sign that contract, he would have felt that Father was blocking his path to wealth and hated you for the rest of his life," Satsuki said calmly. "Besides, without that contract, the bad debts the branch family accumulated through blind expansion would never be cleared away."
"'Cleared away'?" Shuichi mulled over the word.
"Yes, cleared away." Satsuki sat up straight. Her voice was youthful, but her tone belonged to a seasoned chess player. "Father, although Saionji Heavy Industries is a mess right now, it's not entirely worthless. The location of that land in Osaka is excellent, those production lines imported from Germany are good assets, and those hundreds of master craftsmen who have worked there for over a decade are the Saionji family's true wealth."
"But currently, this wealth is tied to unpayable debts and Uncle's foolish decisions."
Satsuki held out her hands and made a clean "cutting" motion.
"We cannot save Uncle, because that is a bottomless pit. But we can save Saionji Heavy Industries."
Shuichi's eyes lit up. He leaned forward, staring intently at his daughter. "You mean…"
"When November comes and the penalty clauses are triggered, the branch family will face massive claims and inevitable bankruptcy liquidation," Satsuki analyzed coolly. "At that time, Mr. Smith won't be able to get his money, so he'll have to auction off the factory's assets to settle the debt."
"And at that time, export companies across Japan will be in agony; no one will dare take on such heavy assets. Except—"
Satsuki pointed first to herself, then to Shuichi.
"Except for us, who have long since converted our funds to US dollars and shorted the market at its peak."
"We can use bargain-basement prices to buy back the land, machinery, and the best workers from the bankruptcy liquidator. As for those debts, those inferior subcontracts, and Uncle's personal guarantees… let them disappear along with the branch family."
This was called "asset stripping" or "bankruptcy reorganization." On Wall Street, it was the most common vulture tactic. But in 1985 Japan, the method of driving a relative to their death and then consuming the corpse still seemed far too advanced and cold-blooded.
Shuichi listened and remained silent for a long time.
The train roared through a tunnel, plunging the compartment into brief darkness.
When the light returned, the way Shuichi looked at his daughter had changed. It was no longer just a father looking at a daughter, but a patriarch looking at his most perfect successor.
Possessing both ruthless methods and a "bodhisattva's heart" (though that heart was reserved only for assets).
"A brilliant 'Golden Cicada Shedding Its Shell' maneuver," Shuichi remarked, his tone carrying a hint of emotion but mostly relief. "Satsuki, you are more ruthless than I am. But I am glad that you are more ruthless than I am."
As a guardian of the status quo, Shuichi knew his own weakness was being too sentimental. But in the coming chaotic era, only a cold-blooded helmsman like Satsuki could guide the family's great ship through the storm.
"It's not being ruthless, Father."
Satsuki said softly, watching the scenery fly by.
"It's like pruning a pine tree in a garden. If you don't cut off the diseased branches, the whole tree will die. Uncle is that diseased branch."
"To keep the Saionji family's great tree evergreen, some people must become fertilizer."
Shuichi nodded, his gaze becoming firm once more.
"After we return, I will have the finance department prepare. We'll set up a new shell company in Osaka and call it… 'Saionji Industries'."
The train sped toward Tokyo.
And behind them, the noisy Osaka factory and Kenjirou with his beautiful dreams were already things of the past.
The death train had already departed, and the Saionji father and daughter—holding the only brake—had no intention of pulling it.