April 25, 1989.
Nagatacho, Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo.
The corridor outside the House of Representatives Budget Committee was laid with thick red carpet. This fabric was extremely effective at absorbing footsteps, but it couldn't absorb the anxious smell of tobacco permeating the air.
The smoking room at the end of the corridor was packed. Secretaries in dark suits were whispering to each other or covering their mobile phones while rapidly issuing instructions into the receiver.
The wall clock pointed to 3 p.m.
Inside the conference room, the vote on the 1989 government budget bill had just concluded.
Osawa Ichiro pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped out.
He loosened the red tie that was a bit too tight. His face showed neither the joy of victory nor the dejection of defeat. His expression was like a piece of wind-dried rock.
"Osawa-sensei," a young Diet member approached and handed him a cup of warm water. "Is Prime Minister Takeshita really going to announce it?"
Osawa Ichiro took the cup but didn't drink. He glanced toward the other end of the corridor.
There, the door to the heavily guarded Prime Minister's restroom was tightly shut. Just moments ago, in exchange for the Opposition Party's agreement to pass the budget bill, Takeshita Noboru had to swallow the bitterest poison — promising to resign immediately after the bill was passed.
This was a brutal political subtraction.
Subtracting the Opposition Party's resistance with the head of a Prime Minister equals the passage of the budget bill.
And once he was no longer Prime Minister, what awaited him was reckoning from all sides.
"He's already a dead man," Osawa Ichiro's voice was very soft, almost inaudible in the noisy corridor. "A dead man doesn't need to make announcements. He just needs to be buried."
He handed the water cup back to the young Diet member, his gaze sweeping over the faction members who used to surround Takeshita Noboru but now huddled in corners whispering, as if avoiding a plague.
The giant ship of the Keiseikai, the Takeshita Faction, had already hit an iceberg.
The captain was sinking.
And the crew were frantically searching for lifeboats.
"In this circle, loyalty has a price," Osawa took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, expertly flicking one out with his finger. "The price of this stuff has gone up too."
He lit the cigarette, took a deep drag, the pungent smoke rushing into his lungs.
The party's bigwigs — Abe Shintaro, Miyazawa Kiichi — these names were now on the Special Investigation Department's blacklist. Because of the Recruit scandal, they had all become unclean.
No one could succeed them.
A vacuum of power had already appeared.
If one wanted to fill this vacuum, to recruit these panicked Diet members, to maintain the faction's dominance in the post-Takeshita era, only one thing was needed.
Money.
A lot, a lot of money.
Osawa Ichiro touched his jacket pocket. Inside was a S-Mart receipt, a prop for his TV performance and also his current talisman.
But a talisman couldn't be eaten.
Every expense in his electoral district — weddings and funerals, the cooling fees distributed to supporters in summer, the mochi fees in winter — each one required real money.
Traditional zaibatsu had stopped donations due to the scandal, and banks were taking a wait-and-see approach.
Right now, Nagatacho was parched, its throat smoking with thirst.
"Prepare the car," Osawa Ichiro stubbed out the cigarette, which he had only taken two puffs from, in the ashtray on top of the trash can. "To Akasaka."
5 p.m.
Akasaka Prince Hotel, New Wing, 36th floor, Executive Suite.
Outside the huge floor-to-ceiling window, Tokyo's twilight displayed a murky purplish-red hue.
Shuichi sat on a single sofa. On the glass coffee table in front of him was a glass of whiskey with an ice ball. The ice had melted halfway, but he hadn't taken a sip.
The doorbell rang.
A bodyguard opened the door.
Osawa Ichiro walked in. He looked more relaxed than he had been in the Diet. He had taken off his jacket and was only wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
"Shuichi-kun, sorry to keep you waiting," Osawa plopped down on the sofa opposite, sinking deeply into it.
"The budget bill passed," Shuichi nodded slightly, his expression calm.
"As expected. Mr. Takeshita still has a strong sense of responsibility."
"Responsibility?" Osawa scoffed, grabbing a bottle of mineral water from the table and taking a big gulp. "He was forced to the edge of a cliff. If he didn't resign, the Opposition Party was going to start a hunger strike in the Diet hall."
He put down the water bottle, his gaze burning as he stared at Shuichi.
"Shuichi-kun, let's skip the small talk. You should understand the current situation clearly."
Osawa extended a finger and drew a circle in the air.
"Takeshita has fallen, and I've become the villain who forced the abdication. But the framework of the Keiseikai cannot collapse. If it collapses, the Liberal Democratic Party will be in chaos."
"I need to stabilize the people below."
He rubbed his fingers together, making an extremely blunt gesture.
"But my ammunition depot is empty right now."
Shuichi looked into Osawa's eyes, filled with desire and anxiety.
This was the true face of politics.
Behind all those high-sounding speeches, it ultimately boiled down to an arithmetic problem about resource allocation.
"Osawa-kun, the Saionji Family never sends friends into battle empty-handed," Shuichi leaned over and took a thick manila envelope from the briefcase at his feet.
The envelope was not sealed.
He pushed it across the table to Osawa.
Osawa Ichiro didn't rush to open it. He was a veteran. Just by the thickness and weight of the envelope, he could estimate its contents.
"This is a portion of the special dividends from S-Mart and Uniqlo last quarter," Shuichi's voice was gentle. "Cashier's checks. Bearer. Can be cashed at any Swiss Bank or offshore account in the Cayman Islands."
Osawa pulled out a corner.
The string of zeros on it shimmered with an alluring luster in the last rays of the setting sun.
One billion yen.
This sum was enough to buy the loyalty of thirty wavering Diet members or pave the way for any puppet in the upcoming party presidential election.
Osawa's fingers stroked the paper.
"Shuichi-kun, this money is hot."
"Money is just money. It has no temperature," Shuichi picked up the whiskey, gently swirling it. "Only people's hearts are warm, or cold."
Osawa laughed. He casually placed the envelope aside, leaned forward, and looked at Shuichi.
"Speak. What does the Saionji Family want?"
"A cabinet position? In the current environment, joining the cabinet is like jumping into a fire pit. Policy favors? Your duty-free shops are already all over Tokyo."
Shuichi shook his head.
He put down his glass, stood up, and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.
Outside the window, in the direction of Tokyo Bay, it was pitch black. Only a few dim searchlights were lit at the construction site of the Rainbow Bridge, like fireflies struggling in the darkness.
Shuichi extended his hand, his fingertip touching the glass window, pointing toward the center of that darkness.
"I want land."
"Land?" Osawa was momentarily stunned. "The Saionji Family is still short on land?"
"It's not ordinary land I want," Shuichi turned around. "Odaiba. Reclamation Area No. 13."
"I want one hundred hectares of land around it, and..." Shuichi's finger traced an arc in the air. "The accelerated construction order for that bridge, and the station planning rights for the Yurikamome."
Osawa Ichiro frowned, his expression turning somewhat strange.
"Odaiba? If I remember correctly, that project is being pushed by Yoshiaki Tsutsumi. Didn't the Seibu Group already reach a cooperation agreement with you? Infrastructure and approvals should be his responsibility."
Osawa looked at Shuichi, a hint of inquiry in his eyes.
"Shuichi-kun, are you buying a ticket twice?"
"Buying a ticket is to get on the train. But I want to sit in the driver's seat," Shuichi walked back to the coffee table and took another document from his briefcase. It was a detailed planning map of Odaiba, with several key locations circled in red pen.
"Osawa-kun, look," Shuichi pointed at the drawing. "Yoshiaki Tsutsumi is indeed pushing this project. But he relies on the connections of the old Takeshita Faction, the old-timers like Kanemaru Shin. Now Kanemaru Shin can barely protect himself, Takeshita Noboru is about to resign, the Seibu Group's political pipeline is clogged."
"If we wait for them to clear the connections, that bridge might take ten years to build. The Saionji Family doesn't want to wait."
Shuichi's voice grew low.
"Moreover, Yoshiaki Tsutsumi is too greedy. In his plan, the best plots of land are reserved for the Prince Hotel, and the station exits face the Seibu department stores."
"I'm putting up the money, the land, but I have to watch his face?"
Shuichi looked up, meeting Osawa's eyes directly.
"That's not fair."
"So I need new power. A force that can bypass the old bureaucratic system and issue orders directly."
"The first thing I need you to do after taking over power is to specially approve the acceleration of the Odaiba project in the name of stabilizing prices and building a super logistics center."
Shuichi's finger pressed heavily on a red circle on the map — the planned site for the Saionji Tower.
"And, in the new plan, the terminus station of the Yurikamome must be located here. Not at the entrance of the Seibu hotel."
Osawa Ichiro understood.
He looked at the map, then at the bag of checks.
This wasn't just bribery. This was a power grab.
The Saionji Family was using the political reshuffling, seizing the gap created by the collapse of the Seibu Group's political backers, to forcibly rewrite the script for Odaiba's development.
They wanted to seize the steering wheel from that Real Estate Emperor.
"How ruthless," Osawa Ichiro sighed, but a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. "If Yoshiaki Tsutsumi knew you spent one billion yen to undermine him, he'd probably be so angry he couldn't sleep."
"Business competition. Everyone relies on their own abilities," Shuichi said faintly. "Moreover, this is also for your political achievements, Osawa-kun. If Odaiba can be built quickly and become Tokyo's new landmark, that would also be credited to the reformists, wouldn't it?"
"Indeed," Osawa Ichiro slapped his thigh. "Good. This deal is done."
"Once the new cabinet is formed, the new Minister of Construction will be my man. The Odaiba planning map will be redrawn according to your wishes."
Shuichi extended his hand.
"Pleasure doing business, future Kingmaker."
Osawa grasped his hand.
"Pleasure doing business."
The two hands clasped tightly together.
In this luxurious suite overlooking Tokyo, at dusk as the old era was about to end, a transaction concerning betrayal and a power grab was settled between a glass of whiskey and a bag of checks.
7 p.m.
Shibaura Pier.
This was a corner of Tokyo Bay and also the necessary route to Odaiba.
The sea wind was strong, carrying the unique humidity of early summer and the smell of seaweed. Black waves crashed against the breakwater, emitting a dull roar.
A black armored Mercedes-Benz was parked at the end of the pier.
Satsuki stood by the car, holding a can of hot coffee. She was wearing her Seika Academy uniform, with a black men's suit jacket draped over it — it was Fujita Tsuyoshi's.
Her long hair was tousled by the sea wind, a few strands sticking to her cheeks.
"Ojōsama, the wind is strong by the sea," Fujita Tsuyoshi stood behind her, his body like a wall, blocking most of the wind for her.
"It's fine," Satsuki shook her head.
She looked across the sea. It was pitch black over there. At this stage, there were no lights or buildings, only a few navigation lights blinking lonely in the darkness.
That place was Odaiba.
The artificial island known as Reclamation Area No. 13.
"Father should have settled things over there," Satsuki's voice was soft, scattered a bit by the sea wind. "Osawa Ichiro is a S-Mart man. He knows this deal is a sure win for him. And given his position, he's not in a place to refuse us."
"Ojōsama, forgive my bluntness," Fujita Tsuyoshi hesitated but still asked. "We've already signed a cooperation agreement with the Seibu Group. Now we're spending another ten billion to get Mr. Osawa to change the plans... If Chairman Tsutsumi finds out, won't it..."
"Will he turn hostile?" Satsuki turned around, leaning back against the railing, looking at the bustling Shibaura city area in the distance. "Fujita, you underestimate Yoshiaki Tsutsumi. He's a pragmatist."
She took a sip of coffee, the warmth flowing down her throat into her stomach.
"In the current situation, with Takeshita Noboru's downfall, the old forces he relied on are paralyzed. If we don't step in, the Odaiba project will rot in his hands."
"I'm building roads and bridges for him. Although... I'm conveniently moving the station to our doorstep."
Satsuki took a coin from her pocket.
It was a brand new 100-yen coin taken from a S-Mart cash register. The silver-white cherry blossom pattern gleamed under the streetlight.
"Once the rice is cooked, once the bridge is built and the roads are open. Even if he's angry, he'll have to hold his nose and accept it."
"Because only by following us can his land be monetized."
"This is control."
Satsuki flicked her finger sharply.
Ding—
The coin traced a silver parabola in the air, spinning, and fell into the dark seawater.
Plop.
The tiny splash was instantly swallowed by the waves.
"The Saionji Tower will be the master of this island," she looked at the spot where the coin disappeared. "This is the down payment for the Sea God."