April 1, 1989, 9:00 AM.
It was not a pleasant morning, especially for the housewives who had to go out and face the new tax system.
Although their pantries might already be stuffed with toilet paper and canned goods bought in advance, fresh vegetables and meat were still unavoidable daily necessities. Moreover, in that seemingly massive buying frenzy, those who truly returned with a full load were ultimately a minority. More people were left facing empty shelves, accumulating a bellyful of anxiety.
Koto Ward, Daiei Supermarket, Higashi-Ojima Branch.
The rolling shutter door rose with the harsh grinding sound of the electric motor.
The crowd that had been waiting at the entrance for a long time was like a murky gray stream, instantly surging into the store. Most of them were housewives from nearby housing complexes, clutching cloth shopping bags with expressions that mixed anxiety and calculation. Yesterday's news had not only failed to alleviate the panic but had instead intensified their psychological urge to grab a bit more before the price hikes were fully implemented.
The store manager stood at the entrance, his facial muscles stiffly forced into a smile.
"Welcome! Please come this way!" his voice was quickly drowned out by the noisy clamor of the crowd.
Five minutes later, the first dispute broke out in front of a cash register.
"3,502 yen?" an older woman in a faded knit sweater stared intently at the numbers on the cash register screen, her brow furrowed into a knot. She held a bottle of soy sauce, a bag of miso, and several bunches of green onions. "It was 3,400 yen yesterday!"
"I'm terribly sorry, today is the first day of the consumption tax implementation," the cashier was a part-time college student, fine beads of sweat already seeping from his forehead. His fingers trembled slightly as he pointed to the sign next to him. "This is the tax-inclusive price."
The woman clicked her tongue and reluctantly opened her somewhat worn coin purse.
She poured out a pile of coins.
100 yen, 50 yen, 10 yen.
She fiddled through the pile of coins with her rough fingers, the metal clinking loudly.
She had gathered 3,500 yen.
Still short by 2 yen.
She fished around in the compartment of her wallet for a long time, pulled out a 5-yen brass coin, and threw it onto the tray.
"Give me change."
The cashier took the 5-yen coin and took a deep breath.
Change: 3 yen.
He pulled open the cash register drawer.
The familiar layout of the cash box had changed. To accommodate a large number of 1-yen coins, the company had installed a temporary plastic grid overnight. It was filled with brand-new, silver-white aluminum coins.
They had just been delivered from the bank yesterday, carrying a cold, hard metallic scent.
The cashier reached out and pinched three feather-light aluminum coins.
Because they were too light and his fingers were sweaty, one coin slipped.
Ding.
It fell to the floor, rolled into the gap under the checkout counter, and disappeared into the dust-filled shadows.
"Ah!" the cashier instinctively bent down to pick it up.
"Hurry up!" the customers waiting in line behind started stomping their feet. "How long does it take to buy some groceries?"
"Exactly, can the person in front stop dallying!"
The line began to stir. Some people poked their heads out to look, some checked their watches, and the sound of children crying was mixed in.
The store manager ran over, drenched in sweat, but there was nothing he could do.
The same thing was happening at all the checkout lanes.
Everyone was fumbling for those damn 1-yen coins. Everyone was waiting for that pile of fragmented change.
A checkout process that should have only taken ten seconds was forcibly dragged out to forty seconds, or even a minute.
The beep-beep of the cash registers became intermittent, like a constipated patient. The air was thick with the smell of anxious sweat, the oily smoke of cheap fried food, and the fermented anger born of waiting.
The entire Daiei Supermarket was slowly sinking into an aluminum quagmire of change, already waist-deep.
In the original script of history, this kind of chaos would have been, at most, a form of collective endurance.
The Japanese are best at waiting. Waiting for the clerks' fingers to become nimble, waiting for the tedious process to become a habit. Just like countless times in the past when facing changes imposed by the state, everyone tacitly bowed their heads, thinking that as long as they took a step back, they could eventually find vast open skies. As long as they endured this period of growing pains, everything would return to normal.
However, on this rewritten timeline, that lukewarm forbearance was ruthlessly shattered.
Because at this very moment, within their sight, lay another completely different choice.
At the same time.
Funabashi City, Chiba Prefecture.
Beside National Route 14, the S-Mart Saionji Mart flagship store.
This was once an abandoned logistics warehouse, now wrapped in a massive white exterior wall.
That huge white soft-light box emitted a calm glow under the gloomy sky. Beside the black "S-Mart" was a red square logo. This minimalist, restrained, and orderly design stood in stark contrast to the colorful, explosion-sticker-covered signs of the surrounding stores, appearing exceptionally striking and high-end.
The parking lot was already full, and guides waved red batons, directing vehicles to park in an orderly fashion.
The automatic sensor doors slid open to both sides.
A wave of warm air with a faint citrus fragrance greeted the visitors.
Sato Miyoko pushed a specially made, dark gray metal shopping cart — one size larger than those in ordinary supermarkets — and walked into the store.
She instinctively stopped in her tracks.
It was so quiet here.
There were no harsh promotional loudspeakers, no shelves overflowing with a chaotic mess of products, and no suffocating sense of crowding.
Above was an exposed industrial-style ceiling painted dark gray, with all pipes hidden in the shadows. As far as the eye could see, there were only countless 3000K warm-light spotlights, precisely illuminating the products on the shelves.
"Is... is this a supermarket?" Miyoko could hardly believe her eyes.
The floor beneath her feet was a non-slip micro-cement, as smooth as an art gallery. Unlike those hypermarkets where you could barely pass sideways, the aisles here were astonishingly wide. Even if two huge shopping carts were pushed side-by-side, it wouldn't feel crowded at all.
She was drawn forward by an invisible force.
The entrance wasn't the usual pile of discounted sundries. Instead, a vibrant fresh produce area first caught her eye.
Large wooden shelves were arranged in tiers.
Red apples, yellow lemons, green bell peppers — they weren't stuffed into plastic bags but were piled into small mountains, exposed as if in a European market. The light from the spotlights hit the skins, reflecting an enticing luster.
This was the display aesthetic Satsuki had learned from the future Whole Foods — the Freshness Theatre.
Using lighting and bulk displays to create visual impact, making customers have the illusion that the vegetables here were just pulled from the ground.
Miyoko picked up a Hokkaido onion.
The skin was dry, the texture firm, and it carried the fresh scent of soil.
She glanced at the price tag.
White text on a black background, with an elegant font:
Hokkaido S-Farm Direct Supply · Pesticide-Free Onions
50 Yen / piece (Tax Included)
"50 yen?" Miyoko rubbed her eyes. "At Daiei, onions of this quality would sell for at least 80 yen, plus tax."
"So cheap... and the environment is so good..."
A massive, surreal sense of happiness hit her. Her previously tense nerves instantly relaxed, replaced by a strong desire to buy.
She grabbed five onions and put them in her cart.
She continued forward along the wide main aisle.
The layout design was extremely sophisticated.
It was a typical combination of a forced path and free exploration. The main aisle was wide and straight, leading directly to the back, but on both sides, numerous inviting peninsula-style display areas were designed.
Past the fresh produce area was a massive condiment wall.
Hundreds of types of soy sauce, vinegar, and mirin were arranged into a rainbow according to color and bottle height. In front of the wall, several small island counters were placed.
On the islands were packs of curry blocks, and right next to the curry were the potatoes and carrots she had just seen in the fresh produce area.
Cross-merchandising.
Miyoko hadn't intended to buy curry, but seeing that tempting combination, the image of a steaming plate of curry rice for dinner tonight instantly popped into her mind.
"Since I've already bought potatoes, I might as well..." she conveniently picked up two boxes of curry blocks.
Further ahead was the daily necessities area.
There were no messy bulk piles here. Instead, a warehouse-style three-dimensional display was used.
Cases of toilet paper, laundry detergent, and mineral water were stacked directly on pallets all the way to the ceiling. That sense of immense volume gave a feeling of security that supplies are extremely abundant, while also suggesting the low-price psychology of bulk savings.
S-Select Toilet Paper (12 rolls) · 200 Yen
Miyoko didn't hesitate to grab two packs.
Unknowingly, the huge shopping cart was already half full.
Even though her original shopping plan didn't involve buying so many things, as she picked through the items in the cart, everything was so affordable that she couldn't bear to put them back.
And at the end of the store, a rich aroma hooked her soul.
S-Kitchen.
This was a fully open-plan deli island. Several chefs wearing tall white hats were busy behind a transparent glass curtain wall. Golden-brown croquettes tumbled in a huge deep-fryer, and thick-cut hamburger steaks sizzled on the griddle.
"Freshly made Hokkaido Danshaku potato croquettes! 50 yen each! Free samples!" a young clerk carrying a tray smiled and handed Miyoko a small piece.
Miyoko took a bite.
The crust was crispy, the inside soft and sweet, and it was piping hot.
"Give me five... no, ten," she pointed to the counter.
Here, she felt she wasn't a housewife nitpicking over a 3% tax, but a noblewoman enjoying life.
The environment here gave her dignity, and the prices here gave her confidence.
Finally, the checkout.
Miyoko pushed her fully loaded cart to the checkout area.
She was prepared for a long wait. After all, she had bought so much.
But she was surprised to find that while there were people at the registers, the line was moving at an astonishing speed.
S-Mart's high-end atmosphere, as quiet as an art gallery, seemed to be subtly exerting a psychological suggestion on every customer: In such a decent place, one should also be an elegant person of high society, possessing refinement, and must never be as crude and anxious as in a wet market.
Under the constraint of this invisible refinement, combined with the fact that the checkout speed was indeed as fast as a shooting star, the checkout process was further accelerated, causing the entire waiting process to maintain a surprising level of quiet.
She pushed her cart over.
"Hello, your membership card, please," the cashier took the S-Mart membership card Miyoko handed over and swiped it on the machine.
Beep.
Then, the scanner swept across the items on the conveyor belt like a machine gun.
Beep beep beep beep...
The numbers on the screen jumped rapidly and finally stopped.
Total: 5,000 Yen
No odd change.
All whole numbers.
"That will be five thousand yen in total," the cashier announced with a smile.
Miyoko's hand instinctively reached for her coin purse.
Although this was the first day of the new tax law's implementation, the overwhelming bombardment of television news for days had already implanted a near-reflexive anxiety in her mind: I must scrape together that 3% change, otherwise I'll be a nuisance to others. This psychological predisposition made her instinctively prepare to fumble for those annoying 1-yen and 5-yen coins.
The moment her fingers touched the cold coins, she stopped abruptly.
She looked at the clean "5,000" on the screen, then at the few coins in her hand. A surreal feeling of being in a different world washed over her.
"Really... just five thousand?" she couldn't help but confirm, her voice tinged with a hint of unbelievable surprise in the chaos of April 1st. "Oh, right, this store is not only beautiful and cheap, it's even tax-free!"
"Although the ads said it was tax-free, I didn't expect... even this final step to be so straightforward."
"Yes, just as we promised," the cashier didn't mock her habitual movement but instead gently pointed to the nearby stand that read Lightening the Burden on Your Life. "At S-Mart, you will never need to fumble through your wallet for that 3% change."
Miyoko let go of those coins with their metallic smell.
She pulled a five-thousand-yen bill from her long wallet and handed it over.
"Exactly right. Thank you for your business."
The cashier took the money with both hands and handed back the receipt.
The entire process took less than thirty seconds.
Miyoko pushed her cart out the door. The cold wind blew on her face, but she felt warm inside.
She looked back at that massive white light box.
In this moment, S-Mart was no longer just a supermarket in her heart.
It was more of a haven.
A place that, in this chaotic world of skyrocketing prices and public panic, was the only one that could make her feel composed and dignified.
And in the foreseeable future, she would become even more dependent on this warm haven.