Chapter 43: The Check Named "Compromise"
In mid-April 1987 the cherry blossoms in Tokyo had already fallen.
In their place came the continuous, chilly drizzle of the Grain Rain season.
The high-end ryotei Tsuruya in Akasaka lay hidden at the end of a deep stone-paved path. Unlike establishments that announced themselves with glaring neon signs, this one offered only a paper lantern glowing perpetually at the entrance and a black ebony plaque bearing the shop's name in elegant characters.
Rainwater dripped from the black roof tiles, striking the shishi-odoshi deep in the garden.
"Clang—"
The bamboo tube struck the stone with a crisp, lonely note that repeated every dozen seconds.
Shuichi sat in the private room named Matsukaze. On the low table before him rested a pot of warm sake and several delicate kaiseki appetizers. Yet he had not touched his chopsticks. Instead he tilted his head, gazing calmly at a red maple tree in the garden, its leaves glistening with rain.
He was waiting for someone.
Ever since that sleepless night in Meguro Ward two weeks earlier, the Seibu Group had fallen strangely silent.
The arrogant Gonda had vanished, and the bulldozers at the construction site no longer attempted to breach the barbed-wire fence. The entire Meguro project appeared to have been placed on indefinite hold, with tens of billions of yen left exposed day after day to sun and rain.
Shuichi knew, however, that this was merely the calm before the storm.
A behemoth that controlled one-sixth of Japan's land would not surrender so easily.
"Swish."
The sliding door of the private room opened without a sound.
The proprietress knelt at the threshold and bowed deeply, forehead touching the back of her hand.
"Lord Saionji, Mr. Shimada has arrived."
Shuichi turned his head, his gaze calm as he looked toward the entrance.
A man in a dark-gray three-piece suit and frameless glasses entered.
He appeared to be around forty, slender, with a pale complexion. His hair was meticulously combed, and not a single drop of rain had touched the edges of his polished leather shoes.
Shimada.
Chief confidential secretary to Chairman Yoshiaki Tsutsumi of the Seibu Group.
In Tokyo's business circles he was the shadow of the man known as the Emperor of Seibu. His presence meant the matter had escalated to the highest level.
"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Saionji."
Shimada approached the table but did not sit immediately. Instead he bowed deeply.
The bow lasted a full three seconds.
"I am Shimada. I have been entrusted by the Chairman to convey his sincere apology."
Shuichi did not rise. He merely raised a hand slightly.
"Please sit."
Shimada straightened and took the seat opposite Shuichi. His back remained perfectly straight, hands resting properly on his knees, like a statue.
"Regarding the unpleasant incident in Meguro Ward two weeks ago…"
Shimada's voice was soft, betraying no emotion.
"That was an unauthorised action by a subsidiary, a serious breach of the Group's compliance standards. Chairman Tsutsumi is deeply dissatisfied."
"Dissatisfied?" Shuichi poured himself a cup of sake. "I had assumed Chairman Tsutsumi would regard it as 'swift and decisive action.'"
"No." Shimada adjusted his glasses. "The Seibu Group is a respectable enterprise. Such barbaric behaviour does not align with our values."
He paused, his tone growing slightly colder.
"As a consequence, Deputy Manager Gonda has been relieved of all duties. The Group is considering his further disposition. The preliminary decision is… to assign him to the Furano Ski Resort in Hokkaido, where he will be responsible for snow-removal operations."
From deputy manager of a development division overseeing tens of billions in projects to a snow remover in Hokkaido.
This was the internal discipline of a major zaibatsu.
Shuichi listened, his face expressionless.
"Where Gonda goes to shovel snow is of no concern to me."
He lifted his sake cup and took a sip.
"What concerns me is how the Seibu Group intends to deal with that scar."
"Of course, by healing it."
Shimada withdrew a white envelope from his briefcase.
He slid the envelope across the table toward Shuichi.
"This is the solution personally approved by the Chairman."
Shuichi set down his cup and opened the envelope.
Inside lay a check.
300,000,000 yen.
Three hundred million.
Shuichi looked at the figure without speaking.
Two months earlier the land had cost only fifty million. Three hundred million represented a sixfold return.
"Mr. Saionji."
Shimada observed Shuichi's expression and spoke calmly.
"You purchased the land for fifty million. We are offering three hundred million—a sixfold return in just two months. That is an astronomical profit in any investment field."
"This is the Seibu Group's sincerity."
"Sincerity?"
Shuichi smiled.
He extended two fingers, picked up the check as though it were a fallen leaf, and examined it briefly.
"Mr. Shimada, if I recall correctly, when Gonda visited previously the offer was two hundred million. So after that night involving riot police and an attempted arson on my land, the Seibu Group's compensation has increased by only one hundred million?"
He flicked his wrist.
The check fluttered lightly and settled onto the tatami.
"Mr. Shimada, your sincerity feels rather light."
Shimada's brow furrowed slightly.
He did not retrieve the check. Instead he adjusted his glasses, his gaze sharpening.
"Mr. Saionji, one should know when to be content."
His voice grew colder.
"Three hundred million already represents a substantial premium. If you still feel it is insufficient, I must remind you."
"The Seibu Group possesses a hundred legal avenues to transform that land into genuine wasteland."
"For example, we could revise the blueprints to bypass the parcel entirely. Or we could petition for municipal planning changes and erect a high wall around it."
"By then, the land in your possession would receive so little sunlight that it would not even be suitable for growing vegetables."
"Is that so?"
Shuichi picked up his chopsticks and placed a piece of vinegar-marinated octopus in his mouth.
The tangy flavour spread across his tongue.
"Then why have you not yet revised the blueprints? Why come here to see me?"
He swallowed the octopus and looked up, eyes steady.
"Mr. Shimada, Seibu Real Estate is scheduled to list in October, is it not?"
Shimada's pupils contracted sharply.
"The Meguro project is the flagship asset in the prospectus. If construction is delayed by land disputes, or if the floor-area ratio is reduced because of planning changes…"
Shuichi lifted his sake cup and swirled it gently.
"Should the IPO be postponed, or the offering price affected, the Seibu Group's losses would far exceed three hundred million, would they not?"
"Moreover, regarding that night's incident, although the police have not made an issue of it, if I were to erect a large sign on that land reading 'Site of Seibu Group's Hired Arson'…"
"I imagine that would prove rather inconvenient for Chairman Tsutsumi, who values his reputation highly and seeks financing in international capital markets."
The private room fell into absolute silence.
Only the shishi-odoshi in the garden continued its monotonous "clang… clang…"
Shimada stared at the refined, elegant man before him.
Before arriving he had believed that offering sufficient money and face—by sacrificing Gonda—would persuade the other party to yield. After all, no one truly wished to offend the Seibu Group.
He had not expected the other party not only to refuse but to seize precisely upon the Seibu Group's greatest vulnerability.
The IPO.
That was Yoshiaki Tsutsumi's top priority for the year—absolutely no room for error.
"How much do you actually want?"
Shimada drew a deep breath; his voice had tightened.
"Money is not the issue."
Shuichi set down his cup and looked at Shimada.
"The issue is attitude."
"Three hundred million yen is like tossing a coin to a beggar. The Seibu Group still believes that by waving banknotes everyone must step aside."
Shuichi rose and straightened his clothes.
"My apologies, but the Saionji family has no need for such petty cash."
"I will have the barbed-wire fence reinforced. If you wish to begin construction, feel free to try."
A clear dismissal.
Shimada's expression darkened.
He stood without retrieving the check from the floor.
"Mr. Saionji, you are playing with fire."
His voice was cold.
"Chairman Tsutsumi's patience has limits. In this Tokyo, no one has ever dared reject the Seibu Group's 'goodwill' in this manner."
"That is because no one has dared say 'no' to him before."
Shuichi walked to the window and pushed it open a crack.
A damp, cold wind entered.
"Go back and tell Chairman Tsutsumi this."
"On the twentieth of next month, The Club in Azabu-Juban will open."
"If he truly wishes to resolve this matter, let him learn how to knock like a gentleman."
"Rather than sending a secretary with a check to teach me how to conduct business."
Shimada regarded Shuichi's back.
He understood that today's negotiation had collapsed completely.
The other party did not want money; he wanted the lofty Emperor of Seibu to bow his head.
"Very well. I will convey your message exactly."
Shimada adjusted his suit, regaining his cold, formal demeanour.
"I hope you will still feel this bold when the time comes."
With that he slid open the door and departed without looking back.
The sound of his footsteps gradually faded.
Shuichi stood by the window, watching Shimada's figure disappear into the curtain of rain.
His palms were damp with sweat.
After all, this was an arm-wrestling match against Japan's richest man. To claim he felt no nervousness would be a lie.
"Come out."
Shuichi released a long breath.
"He has gone."
From behind the folding screen came the soft sound of footsteps.
Satsuki emerged, holding a glass of brightly coloured orange juice. Her face showed no worry—only the quiet excitement of a hunter watching prey fall into the trap.
"You rejected three hundred million in cash."
Satsuki walked to the centre of the tatami, bent down, and picked up the abandoned check.
"Father, your acting has improved considerably."
"My legs were shaking." Shuichi sat back on the cushion with a wry smile. "That was Yoshiaki Tsutsumi. What if he truly turns hostile and brings political pressure to bear…? Although we have rebuilt many of our ancestral connections thanks to ample funds, if we clash openly with Tsutsumi I am still not entirely confident…"
"He would not dare, and he will not."
Satsuki tore the check in half and dropped the pieces into the wastebasket.
"Because he is the one wearing shoes now. For the sake of the IPO he must present himself as a perfect, compliant modern entrepreneur."
"The more he craves respectability, the more we must make him uncomfortable."
Satsuki sat down and took a sip of orange juice.
"Once Shimada returns, he will report your attitude truthfully."
"For a man like Yoshiaki Tsutsumi, problems solvable with money are not problems. What truly troubles him is someone daring to challenge his authority."
"So what comes next?" Shuichi asked. "Do we simply wait?"
"No."
Satsuki shook her head.
"We have already drawn our sword. Next we must leave them a way out."
She looked out at the pitch-black night.
"The opening ceremony of The Club is that way out."
"If Yoshiaki Tsutsumi is intelligent enough, he will understand that joining us is the lowest-cost solution."
"And if he is not intelligent enough?" Shuichi asked, a trace of worry in his voice.
"Then we continue raising the stakes."
A cold glint flashed in Satsuki's eyes.
"I will have that land painted pink and hold heavy-metal rock concerts there every night."
"Let us see whether his luxury mansions can still sell."
"I want Yoshiaki Tsutsumi to learn this: he may either cooperate with us or become our enemy. Even if the Saionji family is not yet as powerful as our ancestors once were, this Emperor of Seibu cannot command us."
Shuichi was momentarily taken aback, then smiled helplessly.
"You child… you truly are a little devil."
"In this cannibalistic bubble era, it is better to be a devil than a sheep."
Satsuki set down her glass and stood.
"Father, are the invitations for The Club ready?"
"Everything has been prepared. I have also spread word within our faction."
"Even under pressure from Yoshiaki Tsutsumi, they are still willing to give you face?" Satsuki patted his shoulder with a smile. "It seems Father should not be underestimated either."
"You girl…" Shuichi shook his head with a rueful smile. "After all, I am the head of the Saionji family. If I could not manage even this, it would disgrace our name. Besides, always being led by my own daughter—I am still a man, after all. It is rather frustrating."
He reached out and gently ruffled Satsuki's hair.
"Come, let us go home."
Outside, the rain continued to fall.