January 25, 1989.
Osaka, Temma, Kita Ward.
Headquarters of the Ministry of Finance Mint Bureau.
The air here was filled with a smell that made one's throat dry.
Inside the massive stamping workshop, sixty high-speed coin presses were operating simultaneously.
Clang, clang, clang.
That dense, dull thudding sound was like thousands of iron hammers pounding against eardrums at once. The concrete floor trembled slightly, the vibrations traveling up through the soles of shoes and causing a physical discomfort.
The Director of the Mint Bureau stood on the second-floor inspection gallery, his hands gripping the railing tightly. His eyes were bloodshot, and the back of his uniform was soaked through with cold sweat, sticking clammily to his skin.
"Still not enough?" his voice was hoarse, almost drowned out by the roar of the machines.
Beside him, the Technical Section Chief held a stopwatch, his face as pale as paper.
"No good. Even with three shifts working around the clock, daily production can only reach forty million coins," the Section Chief said as he looked down at the river of aluminum sheets flowing like silver below. "There are sixty-five days left until April 1st. At the current rate, we're still short by at least four hundred million coins."
The Director took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose with trembling fingers.
April 1st. The day the Consumption Tax takes effect.
It was a sword of Damocles hanging over the heads of all Japanese people.
According to the bill forcibly passed by the Takeshita Cabinet, a 3% Consumption Tax would be added to all goods.
This meant that a rice ball that originally cost 100 yen would become 103 yen. A magazine that originally cost 1,000 yen would become 1,030 yen.
Japan's commercial system would plunge overnight from the era of whole numbers into the era of odd change.
And the lubricant for all of this was that small, 20-millimeter-diameter, 1-gram disc made of pure aluminum — the 1-Yen Coin.
"What are the banks saying?" the Director asked as he put his glasses back on.
"They're all going crazy," the Section Chief grimaced. "Mitsui, Mitsubishi, Sumitomo, all the City Banks are frantically applying for coin allocations. They say retailers are pressuring them, threatening that if they don't get coins, cash registers all over Tokyo will break down on April 1st."
The Director looked down.
On the conveyor belt, the freshly stamped 1-Yen Coins were still hot. They looked like a swarm of newly hatched silver beetles, densely packed together, clinking against each other with a crisp, cheap clatter.
These aluminum discs, which no one would bother to bend down and pick up if they fell on the ground, had now become Japan's most expensive strategic resource.
"Keep adding production lines," the Director gritted his teeth as he gave the order. "Drag out and repair those old machines from Showa 30s. Even if the defect rate is a bit higher, it doesn't matter."
"As long as it's round and has '1 yen' stamped on it, ship it out."
Minato Ward, Tokyo.
Saionji Information System building, basement level two.
It was as cold as an ice cellar. To maintain the stable operation of the hundreds of servers, industrial-grade air conditioners kept the room temperature constant at 18 degrees Celsius. The air was dry, with only the faint red and green flicker of indicator lights in the darkness and the soft rustling sound of hard drives reading and writing.
Shimomura Tsutomu wore his perennial gray hoodie, curled up in an ergonomic chair. His feet were propped up on the control console, and he held a can of no-longer-cold cola, his eyes fixed on the Samsung monitor in front of him.
On the screen, countless streams of green data cascaded down like a waterfall.
"Boss, the model run is complete," Shimomura Tsutomu said as he chewed his gum, speaking to the person sitting in the shadows behind him.
Satsuki sat on a leather sofa in the corner of the room. Today, she wore Seika Academy's winter uniform, the dark blue blazer adorned with the school emblem, and a cashmere blanket draped over her knees.
She held a 1-Yen Coin in her hand.
It was light.
So light it was almost weightless.
"What are the results?" Satsuki's voice was calm.
Shimomura Tsutomu pressed a key.
The waterfall of data on the screen stopped, replaced by a simulation chart.
"Terrible. Or rather, catastrophic," Shimomura Tsutomu said, pointing to a red curve on the screen. "We simulated the checkout process after adding the 3% Consumption Tax."
"Before, a customer buys a rice ball for 100 yen, tosses down a coin, takes the goods, and leaves. Total time is 3 seconds."
"After April 1st, the price becomes 103 yen. The customer needs to take out a 100-yen coin and then rummage through their wallet for three 1-Yen Coins. If they're unlucky and hand over a 1,000-yen bill, the clerk needs to give back 897 yen in change. That's one 500-yen coin, three 100-yen coins, one 50-yen coin, four 10-yen coins, one 5-yen coin, and two 1-Yen Coins."
"The number of coins involved goes from 0 to 11."
Shimomura Tsutomu blew a bubble, which popped with a snap.
"According to our algorithm, for every additional coin, checkout time increases by an average of 1.5 seconds. For elderly customers, that time doubles."
"In other words, the average transaction time will skyrocket from 3 seconds to over 15 seconds."
"A 400% drop in efficiency."
Satsuki looked at that red number.
400%.
For a business model like convenience stores, which rely on high turnover and high traffic, this wasn't just a slight slowdown.
It was a blood clot.
Morning rush-hour commuters would give up on purchases because the lines were too long. White-collar workers on lunch break would turn to the noodle shop next door if the wait exceeded ten minutes.
Once convenience stores were no longer convenient, the result would be fatal.
"There's more trouble," Shimomura Tsutomu said, switching to another chart. "For convenience stores, it's bad enough with their low average transaction value. But for the twenty large-scale supermarkets we're set to open simultaneously on April 1st — 'S-Mart' — this is deadly."
A massive red-and-blue logo appeared on the screen: S-Mart.
This was the Saionji Family's heavy weapon for directly confronting Daiei and Seibu Department Store, and Satsuki's long-planned Middle-Class Harvester.
"Supermarkets have high average transaction values and many items. If every transaction involves handling a pile of 1-Yen Coins, checkout lines will stretch from the registers all the way to the parking lot," he continued. "Moreover, based on the Mint Bureau's production capacity data, there's a shortage of about four hundred million 1-Yen Coins circulating in the market in April."
"At that point, it won't just be slow. There'll be no change to give at all."
"Clerks will have to beg customers behind in line for small change to make up the 3 yen. Cash registers will turn into marketplaces."
Satsuki raised the coin in her hand.
The aluminum surface gleamed palely under the monitor's fluorescent light. The Wakagi pattern on it looked so fragile.
"What a troublesome little thing," Satsuki said softly.
She stood up, walked to the control console, and placed the coin on the desktop.
"Shimomura, what if we make this thing disappear?" she asked.
Shimomura Tsutomu paused, stopping his gum-chewing.
"Disappear?"
"Since it clogs the arteries, we'll clean it out," Satsuki said as she turned around to look at the two people who had just entered the room.
Shuichi wore a dark gray wool coat, his expression grave. Behind him followed Managing Director Endo, holding a thick stack of financial reports, sweat beading on his forehead.
"Father, Managing Director Endo," Satsuki said, pointing to the glaring "400%" on the screen. "It seems we've encountered a man-made traffic jam."
Shuichi walked over, glanced at the data, and frowned deeply.
"This is indeed a major problem. I just returned from Mitsui Bank. President Kanda said the Ministry of Finance has issued strict orders to all major banks to prioritize coin supply for state-owned enterprises and large distribution companies like Seibu Department Store and Daiei supermarkets. As for newcomers like us, allocations will be decided by lottery," he said.
"Lottery?" Managing Director Endo wiped his sweat, his voice sharpening. "This is absurd! We have thousands of convenience stores and twenty 'S-Mart' hypermarkets about to open! The amount of change we need daily is astronomical! If we rely on a lottery, we might as well just shut down!"
"So, we won't rely on them," Satsuki said as she walked back to the sofa and sat down, her posture languid. "Managing Director Endo, I recall S-Food's net profit margin in last year's financial report was around 8%, wasn't it?"
"Uh... roughly 8%," Endo replied, struggling to keep up with the young lady's leaps in thought.
"8%," Satsuki nodded. "What about adding Uniqlo?"
"Uniqlo has high gross margins due to its own brand and cost advantages from its Shanghai factories, with net profit margins reaching over 25%. As for the newly planned 'S-Mart' supermarket, because it directly sources agricultural products from Hokkaido's S-Farm, the gross margin is expected to reach 20%," Endo reported.
"Very good," Satsuki said, holding up three fingers. "Then take out 3%."
The conference room fell silent for a second.
Endo's eyes widened sharply, his mouth gaping wide enough to fit a fist.
"Y-young lady? Do you mean..."
"We'll pay that money for the customers," Satsuki said. "Starting April 1st, all retail outlets under the S.A. Group — Uniqlo, FamilyMart, Lawson, KTV."
"Especially the soon-to-open 'S-Mart' supermarket."
"Will implement zero-ending pricing."
"Something originally priced at 100 yen becomes 103 yen after tax. We'll only charge 100 yen. We'll cover that 3 yen tax ourselves."
"Something originally priced at 980 yen becomes 1009 yen after tax. We'll directly charge 1000 yen."
"I want our cash registers, now and in the future, to never see a single 1-Yen Coin," she declared.
"Th-this is impossible!" Endo almost screamed. As the financial director, his professional instincts made him feel suffocated by this wasteful behavior. "Young lady! Do you know how much money this is? S-Food's annual turnover is hundreds of billions! The 'S-Mart' supermarket's projected turnover is also in the tens of billions! 3% means billions in pure profit! For Uniqlo, the losses would be even greater!"
"And it's not just about the money. This is breaking industry rules! What will the Retail Association think of us? What will the MITI think of us? They'll say we're engaging in unfair competition!"
Endo anxiously paced around the room, nearly crushing the report in his hand.
Shuichi said nothing.
He looked at his daughter. He knew that Satsuki never made losing deals. If she decided to throw away these billions, it must be because she saw returns in the tens of billions.
"Endo," Shuichi spoke up, while subtly gesturing with his eyes. Because he could already see his daughter was getting a bit displeased. "Let her finish."
Hearing this, Endo instantly realized he had lost his composure. His body froze as if hit by a paralysis spell, then stiffly stood upright.
Oh no, oh no... How could I be so foolish? How dare I shout in front of the young lady? He glanced secretly at Satsuki, saw her slightly furrowed brows, and immediately felt a shiver run through his body.
It's over... Will I have to go 'diving' tonight? Probably not, right? After all, I've been with the Saionji Family for so long... He glanced secretly at Shuichi again, only to find Shuichi had turned away, looking out the window as if he had no intention of pleading for him, instantly feeling his heart sink halfway.
The conference room fell into a deathly silence.
No one dared even to breathe loudly.
But Satsuki didn't erupt. She just quietly looked at Endo for three seconds, her gaze as if she were looking at a malfunctioning calculator, considering whether to scrap it.
Then, she withdrew her gaze, as if the earlier offense had never happened.
She stood up, walked to the whiteboard filled with code, picked up an eraser, and cleared a blank area.
Squeak—
The sound of the eraser rubbing against the whiteboard was particularly grating in the quiet room.
Sweat beaded on Endo's forehead, but he didn't dare move.
Satsuki picked up a marker and wrote a word.
.
"Managing Director Endo," Satsuki spoke with her back to him, her voice cold. "Since you're so concerned about that 3%, I'll tell you exactly what that money buys."
She drew a line under the word.
"It buys speed."
"When housewives at Daiei supermarkets are queuing angrily at the cash register looking for those three coins, when cashiers at Seibu Department Store are still fumbling to count change."
"Our customers will toss down a thousand-yen bill, grab their items, and leave."
"That smoothness, that feeling of no calculation or waiting, will become addictive to them."
"Experience is all about contrast. When our cash registers require no waiting, no wasted time, people will be more inclined to shop with us."
Satsuki turned around, her pen tip pointing at Endo from a distance.
The gesture made Endo instinctively shrink his neck.
"More importantly, it buys hearts and minds," she said.
She wrote a second word: .
"Right now, all of Japan is cursing the Takeshita Cabinet and the Consumption Tax. Housewives wish they could shove that 3% tax down the throats of Ministry of Finance officials."
"At a time like this, if a company steps forward and says: 'You don't have to pay this money, I'll pay it for you.'"
"How much advertising value do you think that adds to promoting the new 'S-Mart' brand?"
Endo was stunned.
He looked at the two words. Friction. Anger.
Yes.
Right now, the Japanese people are filled with rage.
If S-Mart raises the banner of "paying your tax for you," it won't just be a supermarket selling cheap goods anymore.
It will become the ally on the common people's side, a fortress against the greedy government and old zaibatsu.
"But... the cost..." Endo's voice weakened. "This is real money after all..."
"Cost?" Satsuki smiled. "Mr. Endo, have you forgotten where our goods come from?"
She pointed east.
"The factories in Shanghai now have production costs one-fifth of Japanese counterparts. The farms in Hokkaido have potato and onion costs one-third of the Agricultural Cooperative's."
"We have the most terrifying gross margin space in all of Japan."
"That 3% is like cutting flesh for Daiei and Seibu, because their costs are too high — they can't afford to cover it. Isao Nakauchi borrowed heavily for expansion, Yoshiaki Tsutsumi needs to make his financial statements look good for the IPO — they're all counting on price hikes to recover."
"But for us, it's just a tiny bit less profit."
"We use this tiny bit to buy the collapse of our competitors, to buy market monopoly, to buy the chance to squeeze them out of the race."
Satsuki threw down the marker in her hand.
Thud.
"This is an asymmetric war."
"I'll use this 3% micro-profit to starve Daiei, Seibu Department Store, and all those old fossils still doing business with outdated thinking to death."
"In the future, we can even lower prices further. Our profit margins are much larger than theirs, our cash reserves are much bigger — we can outlast them to death."
The room fell silent.
Only the hum of server fans echoed.
Endo stared blankly at Satsuki. He suddenly realized this young girl wasn't just talking about a commercial promotion.
She was talking about a massacre.
A meat grinder built with capital, efficiency, and supply chain advantages.
"I... understand," Endo took a deep breath and closed that nitpicking report. "I'll go recalculate immediately. S-Food, Uniqlo, and the 'S-Mart' supermarket's pricing systems need a complete overhaul, and the advertising campaign..."
"Make the ads big," Satsuki added. "Buy full-page spreads in the Yomiuri Shimbun and the Asahi Shimbun. On April 1st itself."
"I've already thought of the headline," she said as she walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the dark night. "Call it — 'Consumption Tax? We'll Pay It For You.'"
After the meeting ended, the executives gradually left.
Satsuki remained alone in the conference room.
She picked up that 1-yen aluminum coin again.
Very light.
The manufacturing cost of this coin now even exceeds its face value.
She walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the street below.
On the street, a delivery truck with the "Daiei" logo was slowly passing by.
Satsuki placed the coin on the glass and flicked it lightly.
Hum—
The coin spun on the glass, emitting a low hum, then fell over.
The pattern of a Wakagi faced upward.
"A single coin can throw a country into chaos," Satsuki said as she looked at the traffic outside the window and murmured to herself. "Such a fragile order."