December 15, 1986.
The streets of Tokyo already carried the unmistakable spirit of Christmas. Giant trees adorned with golden bells and red ribbons stood at the entrances of Ginza department stores. Music shops played Tatsuro Yamashita's "Christmas Eve" on endless repeat, its melancholic yet romantic melody drifting through the cold air and causing every passing young person to hunch their shoulders, quietly hoping for snow.
Yet inside the offices of Saionji Industries in Marunouchi, the atmosphere felt like a war room on the eve of battle.
There were no Christmas trees here, no festive music. Only the ceaseless hiss of thermal paper spitting from fax machines and the relentless ringing of telephones.
Financial Director Endo sat at his desk, staring at a freshly printed balance sheet.
At fifty-five, he had spent thirty years as an auditor at Mitsui Bank before Saionji Shuichi lured him away six months earlier with a generous salary to manage the family's finances. He was a deeply conservative man who favored the color black—symbolizing profit—and despised red, which represented deficits.
Now, as he studied the long columns of black figures, his brows knitted into a deep furrow.
"Too high…" he muttered, fingers tapping anxiously on the desk.
"The cash reserves are excessive. We must place the funds into fixed deposits or purchase government bonds. Otherwise, the loss from inflation alone will be unbearable."
On the books lay 12 billion yen.
This sum represented the Saionji family's accomplishments for the entire year: rental income from the Ginza Crystal Palace, floating profits from overseas stock positions, and the final settlement from earlier foreign-exchange hedges.
In an era when ordinary salarymen struggled to earn a few million yen annually, this figure would have been enough to make any financial director smile in his sleep.
Yet for the Saionji family at this moment, the money was not wealth.
It was a burden.
"Mr. Endo."
The office door swung open.
Satsuki entered. She had forgone her school uniform today, wearing instead a black turtleneck sweater beneath a dark gray wool cardigan. Her hair was tied back in a simple ponytail, and she carried a steaming cup of black coffee.
"Young Miss." Endo rose quickly, adjusting his reading glasses. "You have come at the perfect time. I was about to present a plan to the President for these idle funds. I believe purchasing ten-year government bonds would be the safest…"
"No government bonds."
Satsuki walked to the floor-to-ceiling window without glancing at the report in Endo's hands.
"And no fixed deposits."
She turned, took a sip of the bitter coffee, and continued.
"Spend it."
Endo stared at her, stunned. "Spend… spend it? How much?"
"All of it."
Satsuki's voice was soft, yet it struck Endo's ears like a thunderclap.
"All of it?!" His voice cracked. "Twelve billion yen? Now? At the end of the year?"
"Yes. Within this week."
Satsuki approached the desk and tapped the dizzying figure with one finger.
"Mr. Endo, as an experienced banker you understand better than I do that money is only truly money when it is in motion. What sits idle in an account is merely dead weight."
"But… what should we purchase?" Endo's forehead glistened with anxious sweat. "At present, any decent building project in Ginza or Akasaka is already being pursued by the major conglomerates. Serious negotiations require months. Within one week… there is simply no time for proper due diligence!"
"Who said we are buying buildings?"
Satsuki withdrew a rolled cadastral map from her briefcase.
It was a large-scale map of Tokyo Metropolis, detailed enough to show every narrow alley.
Dense blue circles covered its surface.
Endo leaned forward, then widened his eyes in disbelief.
The circled parcels were not proper development sites.
Some were narrow, elongated scraps of land squeezed between two buildings, measuring barely twenty tsubo—roughly sixty square meters.
Others were irregular triangular plots tucked behind Shibuya Station.
Still others were open-air parking lots hidden in the back alleys of Roppongi, or the deed to a rundown ramen shop on the edge of Shinjuku's Kabukichō.
"This…" Endo stammered. "Young Miss, these are… scraps! Garbage that mainstream developers would never touch! These plots are too small for construction, and the floor-area ratios are pitiful. What possible use could they have?"
"Because they can be acquired quickly."
Satsuki rolled the map away, her gaze sharp.
"Because no one wants them, there is no need for lengthy negotiation. Because the plots are small, title is clear. Provided the cash is ready, transfer can be completed in three days."
She looked directly at Endo.
"Mr. Endo, does a piece of gold lose its value simply because it has been cut into smaller fragments?"
"Uh… no, of course not."
"Land is the same."
Satsuki stepped to the whiteboard, picked up a marker, and wrote two lines:
Money = Trash
Land = Gold
"Starting next month, every inch of land in Tokyo—even the size of a palm—will turn to gold. Even if nothing can be built upon it and it can only hold a single bicycle, its value will rise with the tide."
"What we must do is exchange this twelve billion yen of 'trash' for as much 'gold' as possible."
"Size, shape, or location does not matter. As long as the parcel lies inside the Yamanote Line, as long as the title is clean, and as long as transfer can occur immediately."
Satsuki tossed the marker aside; its cap rolled across the table and dropped to the floor.
"Buy them all."
Ten minutes later, the conference room of Saionji Industries had transformed into a frenzied trading floor.
More than a dozen telephones rang simultaneously while staff shouted over one another.
"Hello! Tanaka Real Estate? This is Saionji Industries. Is that triangular plot in Shibuya still available? No one wants it? We will take it! Bring the deed immediately! Yes—full payment in cash!"
"Mr. Kobayashi! That fifty-tsubo parking lot in Roppongi—three hundred million? No problem! If we can sign today, we will add another twenty million!"
News of the purchases spread like wildfire through Tokyo's real-estate brokerage circles.
The Saionji family had lost its mind.
The same family renowned for its sharp eye and exclusive focus on premium projects had suddenly begun hoarding junk.
Agents who had been stuck with unsellable parcels were overjoyed. They clutched their document folders, hailed taxis, and converged on Marunouchi like a rushing tide.
By three o'clock in the afternoon, a long line had formed before the conference table.
Agents stood clutching deeds and personal seals, their faces etched with disbelief. They had long resigned themselves to these oddly shaped plots rotting in their portfolios. Now a benefactor had descended from heaven.
Satsuki sat at the head of the table.
Before her lay a thick stack of checkbooks and the official seal bearing the Saionji family's authority—her father's seal, which she now used freely.
She operated like an emotionless stamping machine.
"Shibuya Ward, Udagawachō—fifteen tsubo, triangular shape. Two hundred million yen."
The agent handed over the contract with trembling hands, terrified the buyer might reconsider.
Satsuki glanced at the property certificate to confirm the details.
Thud.
The seal fell, leaving a bold red imprint on the paper.
"Next."
She tore off a check and passed it to the stunned agent without raising her eyes.
"Minato Ward, Nishi-Azabu—thirty tsubo, deep in an alley inaccessible by car. Four hundred million yen."
Thud.
Another stamp.
"Next."
"Shinjuku Ward, Hyakuninchō—twenty-five tsubo, formerly a garbage collection station. One hundred and fifty million yen."
Thud.
"Next."
For the remainder of the afternoon, only three sounds filled the conference room: the rustle of paper, the tearing of checks, and the dull, repeated thud of the seal.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
With every strike, billions of yen vanished from the account and reappeared as yellowed deeds.
Endo stood nearby, his handkerchief already soaked through. His heart felt as though it could not endure another moment.
What manner of investment was this?
It was nothing short of throwing money into the wind.
What possible use could that triangular plot in Shibuya serve beyond displaying a billboard? How could construction materials even reach the narrow alley lot in Nishi-Azabu? How could it ever be developed?
"Young… Young Miss…" Endo ventured, voice trembling. "Perhaps… we should reconsider? The price for that former garbage station is clearly inflated…"
"There is no time."
Satsuki did not look up; her hands continued their steady rhythm.
"If you think it expensive now, next year you will consider it a bargain snatched in broad daylight."
She glanced at the wall clock.
4:50 p.m. The banks would soon close.
"Ten more minutes," Satsuki said, raising her voice slightly. "Who is next?"
"Me! Me!"
A middle-aged man, sweating profusely, pushed his way forward.
"I am from Ōta Real Estate! I have… a rather difficult property."
He produced a blueprint with evident embarrassment.
"In Meguro Ward. It is a long, narrow strip—only two meters wide but fifty meters long—sandwiched between two roads. It was originally designated as a green belt, but later…"
"How much?" Satsuki interrupted.
"Since it is truly unusable… fifty million yen."
"Bought."
Thud.
The seal fell.
The middle-aged man accepted the check in a daze. As he left, he tripped over the threshold and nearly fell, yet he rose laughing like a madman.
At five o'clock sharp, the bank transfer system shut down for the day.
Satsuki set the seal aside.
Her wrist ached. She rubbed it gently and surveyed the mountain of documents piled before her.
The thick stack of checkbooks now contained only a few remaining stubs.
"Mr. Endo."
Satsuki leaned back in her chair and released a long breath.
"Report."
Endo seized the calculator, his fingers flying across the keys despite their slight tremor.
"Original account balance: 12.3 billion yen. Today's expenditure…"
He swallowed hard as he read the total.
"11.8 billion yen."
"Remaining liquid funds… 500 million yen. Just sufficient for next month's salaries and utilities."
The account was virtually empty.
An entire year of diligent effort had been converted, in a single afternoon, into a pile of seemingly worthless "scrap paper."
Endo looked up, eyes filled with fear.
As a conservative financier, this razor-thin cash position left him suffocated. If even one day's rent from Ginza arrived late next month, the company would face default.
"Good."
Yet Satsuki smiled.
She rose, walked to the heap of deeds, and ran her fingers gently across the rough paper.
"Mr. Endo, do not look at me that way."
"This is not scrap paper."
She lifted the deed for the triangular plot in Shibuya.
"Although nothing can be built upon it, the land lies within sight of Shibuya Station. Next year I will erect a giant LED screen here, broadcasting advertisements day and night. The advertising revenue alone will recover the cost within twelve months."
She then picked up the deed for the narrow strip in Meguro.
"This parcel, though only two meters wide, sits precisely between two major developments. Should any developer later wish to connect those properties, this land will become an indispensable throat. At that time, fifty million yen? They will gladly pay five hundred million to reclaim it."
Satsuki turned toward the window.
Winter nights fell swiftly. Streetlights had already illuminated the avenues of Marunouchi.
Their golden glow merged into flowing rivers, like molten lava.
"We are not merely buying land."
Satsuki spoke softly.
"We are buying rights of way. We are buying sightlines. We are buying chokepoints that others will one day be forced to pass through."
"In a city about to expand explosively, every corner possesses value—so long as one occupies the right position."
She picked up her coat and slipped it on.
"Come, Mr. Endo. It is time to leave."
"Go home and rest well. Do not worry about meeting payroll."
Satsuki walked to the door, paused, and glanced back at the now-empty safe.
"Because starting tomorrow, we will no longer need cash."
"We will live on credit."
"And every document on this table is a reason for the banks to beg us to accept their money."
The door closed behind her.
Endo remained alone in the conference room.
He gazed at the table covered in deeds, then at the vibrant nightscape of Tokyo beyond the window.
For some reason, he suddenly felt the young mistress was correct.
In this mad era, cash had indeed become the least valuable asset.
Only by trading it for these tangible—however strangely shaped—parcels of land could one secure a foothold in the coming deluge.
Even if that foothold measured merely two meters wide.
He drew a deep breath and began organizing the documents with careful, almost reverent movements, as though handling a fortune in priceless treasures.
Downstairs, the faint melody of a Christmas carol drifted upward.
Silent night… holy night…
Christmas Eve was drawing near.
Yet for the Saionji family, this night was anything but peaceful.
At the final moment before the storm broke, they had exchanged the last bag of grain in the ship's hold for a heavy ballast stone.