February 3, 1989.
Nagatacho, Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo.
The shadow of the Liberal Democratic Party headquarters building was stretched long by the winter sun, covering almost half a block.
The Takeshita Cabinet was in a precarious state. The aftershocks of the Recruit scandal had not yet subsided, and the forceful push for the consumption tax had plunged the cabinet's approval rating to rock bottom. Behind every tightly closed window, anxious breaths were hidden.
A black Nissan President sedan slowly stopped at the entrance of the House of Representatives First Members Office Building.
Saionji Shuichi pushed open the car door. He wore a dark gray cashmere coat with a discreet family crest pin on the collar. The cold wind swept up fallen leaves from the ground, skimming past his leather shoes.
He did not bring any attendants. He only carried a black briefcase in his hand as he walked steadily towards the elevator lobby.
Fifth floor, Room 508.
A nameplate hung on the door reading "Member of the House of Representatives, Osawa Ichiro."
This was the office of Osawa Ichiro, one of the Seven Elders of the Takeshita Faction and a powerful figure within the party. The corridor was bustling with people. Secretaries carrying documents hurried by, telephone rings echoed incessantly, all exuding a tense atmosphere as if a great battle was imminent.
"Mr. Saionji, Representative Osawa is waiting for you," the secretary seemed prepared and directly led Shuichi into the innermost office.
The heavy soundproof door closed, completely isolating the noise from outside.
The room was filled with a haze of smoke.
Osawa Ichiro sat on a leather sofa, holding a cigarette that was almost burnt out. The ashtray in front of him was already piled high with cigarette butts. Seeing Shuichi enter, he did not stand up, only glancing at the seat opposite with his bloodshot eyes.
"Shuichi-kun, aren't you afraid of being photographed by reporters coming to see me at a time like this?" Osawa's voice was hoarse, tinged with fatigue.
"If it's to deliver ammunition to you, Mr. Osawa, I think the reporters would be very happy to take pictures," Shuichi said as he sat down opposite him, placing the black briefcase on his knees.
"Ammunition?" Osawa raised an eyebrow, stubbing out his cigarette butt. "What I lack now is not money. In the current situation, money can't be spent even if you have it. The opposition parties are relentlessly pursuing the Recruit matter. Although the consumption tax bill passed, the resistance at the implementation level is staggering. What I need is something that can silence those opponents."
"Money indeed cannot solve all problems," Shuichi said as he opened the briefcase and took out a tightly sealed document from inside. The cover had no title, only a single line with a date. "But common sense can."
He pushed the document across to Osawa.
"What is this?" Osawa asked suspiciously as he picked up the document.
"An investigative report on coins," Shuichi said calmly. "It was compiled overnight by the Saionji Information System, or SIS."
Osawa opened the first page.
What met his eyes was not a complex flow of political donations, nor obscure legal clauses, but an extremely simple bar chart.
Estimated 1-Yen Coin Circulation Shortage on April 1, 1989: 420 million coins
Below were detailed lines of data analysis: the daily production capacity limit of the Osaka Mint, the vault inventory of major metropolitan banks, the estimated demand of retail terminals, and that shocking deficit.
"This is..." Osawa's gaze froze.
"The government decided to levy a 3% consumption tax, which means all commodity prices will have fractional amounts," Shuichi said, leaning back against the sofa. "100 yen becomes 103 yen. 98 yen becomes 101 yen."
"The public will need a large number of small-denomination coins of various kinds to pay this tax, or to receive change."
Shuichi pointed at the report.
"However, those elite bureaucrats at the Ministry of Finance seem to have only calculated how much tax they can collect, forgetting to calculate whether there are enough coins in circulation for the public to pay the tax."
Osawa Ichiro quickly flipped through the document. The more he read, the tighter his brow furrowed, but the gleam in his eyes grew brighter.
As a master of political maneuvering, he instantly sensed the immense destructive power contained within this report.
Attack the consumption tax itself? That would be political suicide. It was the party's resolution, a bill he himself had voted for.
Attack Recruit? That would be digging his own grave. Although the Saionji Family had helped him whitewash it, no one wanted to step into that quagmire again.
But attacking the coin shortage was different.
This had nothing to do with political stance, nothing to do with left or right wing. This was pure administrative incompetence.
"Unable to even prepare enough coins for change, yet forcing money out of the public's pockets," Osawa muttered to himself, a ferocious smile curling at the corner of his mouth. "It's like a robber making the victim go buy the rope to tie themselves up."
"Not only that," Shuichi timely added another blow. "According to our calculations, if coins are insufficient on April 1st, checkout speeds at convenience stores and supermarkets in Tokyo will drop by 40%. Housewives won't be able to buy ingredients for dinner, and office workers will be late due to queues."
"This will cause chaos throughout society."
"And all of this is due to the Takeshita Cabinet's lack of preparation."
Osawa Ichiro snapped the document shut.
Snap.
The crisp sound echoed in the smoke-filled room.
"Good stuff," Osawa said as he looked up, staring intently at Shuichi. "Shuichi-kun, is this data reliable?"
"Absolutely reliable," Shuichi smiled. "This conclusion is based on the internal production logs of the Osaka Mint and on-site sampling from our two thousand retail outlets across Tokyo."
"Additionally..." Shuichi took out another piece of paper from his bag. "This is the draft announcement that Saionji Industries' S-Mart and S-Food are about to release."
Osawa took it and glanced at it.
To alleviate the coin shortage, S-Mart pledges: Round down at checkout, no 1-yen coin needed.
"You're going to run a promotion at this time?" Osawa asked.
"No, we are helping the government maintain stability," Shuichi corrected. "Since the country can't mint enough coins, we'll help the public avoid the hassle of using coins. Of course, this can also highlight the incompetence of certain people."
Osawa Ichiro looked at the two documents in his hand.
One was a spear to attack the government, the other a shield to win over the public.
The Saionji Family had delivered both into his hands.
"Hahahaha..." Osawa suddenly laughed, the sound echoing in the smoke-filled room. "Shuichi-kun, your Saionji Family, you're truly born troublemakers."
He stood up, walked to his desk, and pressed the intercom.
"Notify the director of the Budget Committee, adjust the order of questioning for tomorrow. I want to speak first," he said. "Also, summon the Director-General of the Banking Bureau and the Director of Mint Bureau from the Ministry of Finance. I want to ask them if they even know how to do arithmetic."
Shuichi also stood up, straightening his clothes.
"Then, I won't disturb Mr. Osawa's preparations," he said.
"Shuichi-kun," Osawa called out to Shuichi just as he was about to leave. "I'll remember this favor."
Shuichi turned back and gave a slight bow.
"We are merely fulfilling our duty as citizens. After all, watching the public queue in the cold wind for a few coins is truly heartbreaking," he said.
The door closed.
Osawa Ichiro sat back down on the sofa and lit a new cigarette.
The flame illuminated his ambitious face.
Since Takeshita Noboru was already teetering, he didn't mind giving another push.
Using a mere 1-gram aluminum coin to pry loose that heavy Prime Minister's seat...
February 4th, 9:00 AM.
The Japanese Parliament Building, First Committee Room of the House of Representatives.
The air here was even colder than outside. A huge crystal chandelier cast a solemn light, illuminating the rows of deep red velvet seats below.
The Budget Committee was in session.
Minister of Finance Murayama Tatsuo sat at the response desk, clutching a white handkerchief, constantly wiping his forehead.
Times had been tough lately. The opposition parties were like mad dogs relentlessly biting at the Recruit case. Every response felt like walking a tightrope.
"Next questioner, Liberal Democratic Party, Osawa Ichiro-kun," the chairman's voice rang out.
Murayama breathed a sigh of relief. It was one of his own. Although Osawa was a hardliner, he was also a key proponent of the consumption tax and shouldn't be too hard on him. At most, he'd ask a few perfunctory questions about the budget, giving him a chance to explain the necessity of the policy.
Osawa Ichiro stood up.
He had deliberately worn a bright red tie today, which looked particularly jarring amidst the sea of dark gray suits.
He wasn't holding any prepared speech, only a thin document held together by a paperclip.
"Minister of Finance," Osawa's voice, amplified by the microphone, sounded steady and powerful throughout the hall. "We've discussed the necessity of the consumption tax many times within the party. I don't want to talk about that today."
Murayama nodded, ready to recite his well-prepared standard answer about funding sources for an aging society.
"I want to ask a more specific question," Osawa said, raising the document in his hand. "There are less than two months until the new tax law takes effect on April 1st. I would like to ask the Minister, has the Ministry of Finance made the physical preparations for the explosive demand for coins that is about to hit the market?"
Murayama was taken aback.
Coins?
Such trivial matters were usually handled by administrative officials and never reached the minister's desk.
"Uh... Mint Bureau is producing according to plan..." Murayama answered evasively.
"According to plan?" Osawa sneered. "According to the data in my hand, the current daily production at the Osaka Mint is 40 million coins. Yet, based on market projections, the shortfall by April 1st is 400 million coins."
"400 million coins," Osawa repeated the number, his voice suddenly rising. "Minister, how do you plan to fill this 400 million coin gap? By folding paper? Or by having citizens borrow money from each other at the checkout counter?"
The entire hall erupted in an uproar.
Flashbulbs from the press gallery instantly lit up the room.
Murayama's face changed. He turned to look at the Vice-Minister behind him, who also looked bewildered, clearly having never paid attention to this detail.
"This... this data might be..." Murayama tried to argue.
"This is Mint Bureau's internal production log!" Osawa slammed the document onto the table.
BANG!
The loud noise, amplified by the microphone, made everyone's ears ring.
"To squeeze that 3% tax from the people's pockets, you haven't even prepared the most basic tool for collecting money! Is this the Ministry of Finance's perfect plan? Is this the Takeshita Cabinet's administrative capability?" Osawa pointed at Murayama's nose, spittle flying in the light. "You're making fools of the people!"
"When housewives go to the supermarket with their wallets but can't check out because they lack a 1-yen coin, when office workers queue for half an hour at the checkout just to buy a bento..."
"Who will take responsibility for this chaos, this immense trouble brought upon the people's lives? You? Or Prime Minister Takeshita?"
Whoosh—
The entire committee room boiled over.
Opposition party members excitedly banged their tables, cheering loudly. They never expected that at this critical juncture, it would be a senior figure from the ruling party itself who would deliver the most devastating blow to the government.
And this blow struck too accurately.
It avoided complex tax theories and directly hit the pain point of daily life that most concerned the common people.
No change. Queues. Trouble.
These words were more inflammatory to public sentiment than any corruption allegation.
Murayama stood dumbfounded, sweating profusely. He looked at Osawa Ichiro, who usually called him brother, now appearing like a strange executioner.
He had been betrayed.
Betrayed by his own.
February 5th.
The storm of public opinion arrived even more violently than anticipated.
Yomiuri Shimbun front page: "Coin Crisis! Japan to Plunge into 'Change Panic' on April 1st."
Asahi Shimbun editorial: "A Government That Can't Even Manage a Single Coin, Is It Qualified to Talk About the Future?"
And under the cover of these major mainstream newspapers, several gossip weeklies and tabloids controlled by the S.A. Group went all out.
Shukan Bunshun published a simulated report titled "If There Were No 1-Yen Coins That Day," vividly describing sensationalist stories of supermarket paralysis, vending machine shutdowns, and even people missing ambulances while scrambling for coins.
"Did you hear? In the future, you'll have to pay more for things if you don't have a 1-yen coin!"
"Really? So prices are going up again?"
"Those government officials are useless, only thinking about collecting taxes, can't even make enough coins."
Street corners, izakayas, on trains.
People's gossip quickly shifted from "who took Recruit's money" to "how many 1-yen coins are left in my piggy bank at home."
An anxiety named "trouble" began to spread through Tokyo.
Shinjuku, a small bookstore.
The shopkeeper looked worriedly at the coin compartment in the cash register.
"If there really is no change to give, how can I do business..." he sighed, pulling out a glass jar filled with coins from under the counter. It was his son's savings from many years.
"I was planning to save it for Taro's bicycle..." the shopkeeper poured all the coins from the jar and began counting them one by one.
On the TV behind him, the news was replaying scenes from the Diet questioning.
Osawa Ichiro was waving his fist, denouncing the government's incompetence.
"We need a government that can get things done! Not a bunch of bureaucrats who just sit in their offices drinking tea!"
The shopkeeper looked at the TV and nodded.
"He's right."
Late at night.
Bunkyo Ward, Saionji Main Family Residence.
In the living room, the fireplace flames danced.
Shuichi sat on the sofa, holding a glass of Bordeaux red wine.
On the TV screen, NHK's evening news was replaying the day's Diet footage.
The camera gave a close-up of Finance Minister Murayama.
The usually lofty minister was now wiping sweat with a handkerchief, looking flustered, eyes darting, lips trembling, like a rabbit cornered.
Opposite him, Osawa Ichiro was full of momentum, like the embodiment of justice.
"Great performance," Shuichi said softly.
He picked up the remote and pressed the mute button.
The world fell silent.
The images still flickered, Osawa still roared, Murayama still trembled.
It was like a silent farce.
Shuichi gently swirled the wine glass in his hand. The deep red liquid left streaks of tears on the glass, shimmering with a captivating luster in the firelight.
"A single coin," he looked at the wine in his glass. "Just one small aluminum coin can make these big shots show their true, ugly colors."
"Is this politics?"
He remembered what his daughter had said to him in the study a year ago:
Father, so-called politics is merely the redistribution of resources. As long as you control the flow of resources, you can make water flow uphill.
Now, he controlled the flow of coins.
And so, the water truly flowed backwards.
"Satsuki..." Shuichi turned his head to look at his daughter, who was reading a book on the other sofa.
Satsuki was in her pajamas, with a copy of Das Kapital resting on her knees.
She seemed indifferent to the farce on TV, merely turning a page with focus.
"What is it, Father?"
"Nothing," Shuichi smiled, raised his glass, and made a toasting gesture to the air. "I just feel that tonight's wine is exceptionally fragrant and mellow."
Satsuki looked up, glanced at the silently shouting Osawa Ichiro on the TV.
The corner of her mouth lifted into a faint curve.
"The good show is just beginning," she said as she closed the book. "When those 400 million coins truly turn into thin air, that's when this country will really start to hurt."
"And people only obediently pay for medicine when they're in pain."
She stood up and walked towards the bedroom.
"Good night, Father."
"Good night," Shuichi watched his daughter's departing figure.
The flickering light from the TV screen played on his face.
He took a sip of wine.
Bitter, yet with a sweet aftertaste.
This was the taste of power.
Outside the window, the wind whistled through the bare branches.
On this cold winter night, Tokyo's lights still blazed brightly.