The elevator came to a steady stop on Basement Level 2.
The metal doors slid open, and the pungent smell of epoxy resin and amino acid synthesis rolled out.
Bright white incandescent light reflected off the stainless steel lab benches.
Beside an old centrifuge stood a man with disheveled hair. His stained white lab coat hung loose on his frame, and he was copying data from an instrument panel into a logbook with a ballpoint pen. The deep bags under his eyes told of years spent in a basement without sunlight.
Hearing the approaching footsteps, the man stopped writing and turned, looking dazed.
The executive director stepped out of the elevator, his leather shoes clicking lightly on the anti-static floor. He pulled a folded white handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his nose and mouth, his brow furrowed as he tried to block out the lab's stale air.
"Chief Researcher Takeuchi," the executive director said. His voice was quiet, back to the rigid politeness of a Japanese office.
"The eldest Miss Saionji has come down for an inspection. Please bring out that sample of the byproduct from your Amino Acid Insulating Resin. Be quick. Don't waste the guest's time."
The man called Takeuchi blinked. He clearly hadn't expected a VIP from the top floor to visit a marginal department with a budget near zero.
He wiped his hands awkwardly on his lab coat and hurried to a temperature-controlled cabinet against the wall. He opened the metal door and removed a thin, translucent, amber-colored film.
Holding it in both hands, he approached Satsuki with his head bowed.
"This is a byproduct from our research," Takeuchi said. His voice lacked confidence and his eyes wouldn't stay still. "It has extremely high insulation properties and an incredibly low thermal expansion rate. Its biggest flaw is that it's too brittle..."
Satsuki took a pair of white cotton gloves from Fujita Tsuyoshi and put them on slowly.
She reached out and took the film.
Her fingers brushed the amber surface. It was smooth and hard.
She applied slight pressure with her thumb and index finger.
Snap.
The crisp break echoed in the quiet lab.
The film split in two between her fingertips and fell onto the stainless steel bench.
Satsuki frowned slightly.
"Too brittle," she said.
She pinched the fingertips of her gloves and pulled them off. The white cotton traced an arc through the dim light and landed in a recycling bin nearby.
"It breaks with the slightest impact. This physical property makes it completely unusable as a sealing film for bento boxes."
Satsuki's voice dropped to ice. Her expression turned cold.
She turned and snatched the Annual Special Seasoning Quotation from Managing Director Endo's hands — the same document they had been discussing happily in the tasting room minutes ago.
The paper shook in the air with a sharp rustle.
"Executive Director, is this your company's masterpiece?" she said. "You wasted my time for this kind of trash?"
"I had high expectations for Ajinomoto's basic R&D. Now it seems your company wastes capital producing useless industrial waste."
Satsuki's wrist loosened.
The heavy quotation slipped from her fingers and hit the stainless steel bench with a dull thud.
"S-Food cannot entrust the supply chain for Japan's top three convenience store chains to a company that can't even make proper packaging."
She turned, her gaze passing over the Ajinomoto executive director's face as it went pale.
"Managing Director Endo, notify procurement. The blanket contract for seasonings needs to be reconsidered. Contact Kikkoman tomorrow."
With that, she walked straight toward the elevator.
Cold sweat ran down the executive director's forehead onto his dark-gray collar.
He could see his dream of joining the core board shattering in front of him.
"M-Miss Saionji! Please wait!"
The executive director lunged forward, his shoes scuffing a sharp black mark on the floor. He bowed deeply, hands braced on his knees.
"I... I am extremely sorry! Please forgive my rudeness!"
"This is just a marginal project from Basic Chemistry! It doesn't represent our Food Division's strength! Please give us another chance!"
Satsuki stopped walking.
She didn't turn around.
"A company that manages even its marginal projects this chaotically will only drag down S-Food's brand," Satsuki said, her voice harsh.
"I don't want to see this perennially loss-making department still under Ajinomoto's name in future joint financial reports. It makes me feel like my money is being thrown away."
The executive director gasped, his brain scrambling in panic.
Cannot appear in joint financials. Cannot be under Ajinomoto's name.
Divestment!
If they divested the department, the massive food order could be saved!
"We'll divest it immediately!" the executive director shouted, his voice hoarse like a drowning man grabbing a rope. "We'll shut this lab down right now! We'll remove them from the group's structure entirely!"
In the corner, Chief Researcher Takeuchi went pale. He clutched the hem of his lab coat, too afraid to protest.
Why is the atmosphere so tense? I was just running experiments. How did I cause a disaster?
Satsuki turned slowly.
She looked at the sweating executive director, a faint mockery tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"Shut it down? And put these researchers on the street because of one word from me? The Saionji Family can't afford a reputation for cruelty."
The executive director froze.
Shutting it down invited criticism. Keeping it meant losing the order.
Trapped, he was pouring sweat. His eyes flicked to the briefcase in Endo's hand, stamped with the S.A. Investment logo.
A bold, almost absurd idea formed.
The Saionji Family had money. S.A. Investment had been buying bankrupt companies lately.
"Then... what about a transfer?"
The executive director swallowed and looked up tentatively, eyes full of pleading.
"If we don't shut it down... our company is willing to transfer this lab, along with Researcher Takeuchi and the byproduct patents, to S.A. Investment for free as an apology for wasting your time!"
The more he talked, the more brilliant it sounded. Dump a loss-making burden, flatter the young mistress, and save the order. As long as the order was safe, anything was negotiable.
"If you'll take this mess off our hands, we can even pay a relocation fee! Think of it as... finding them a shelter!"
Satsuki studied the executive director's desperate expression.
The bait was taken.
She frowned slightly, as if deeply troubled, and gave a reluctant sigh.
"A shelter?"
She walked back to the lab bench and tapped the discarded quotation with her fingertip.
"S.A. Investment doesn't collect trash."
The executive director's heart jumped into his throat.
"However," Satsuki said, her tone shifting.
"Saionji Industries has always respected obsessive researchers. Since the executive director recommends them so strongly, it would be rude to refuse your gesture."
"A free transfer won't be necessary. S.A. Investment will set up a venture fund."
"We'll divest this lab from Ajinomoto and form a joint venture. We'll invest one billion yen to cover future R&D and trial costs, taking an 80% stake. As for S-Food's five-year order, everything proceeds as planned."
She leaned in slightly, meeting the executive director's bloodshot eyes.
"Think of it as an irrational angel investment. What do you say?"
The executive director stared.
A few seconds later, his tense shoulders slumped and he exhaled a long, shaky breath.
Trading a perennially loss-making marginal lab for a massive food order — plus a one-billion-yen capital injection. By any audit standard, this deal was flawless.
"Your generosity is admirable!"
"The Saionji Group truly has conscience and social responsibility!"
The executive director bowed ninety degrees, his voice shaking with relief.
"I'll have legal prepare the divestment contract immediately!"
Takeuchi stood frozen by the centrifuge. He stared at the film fragments on the bench, lips trembling, unable to process how his fate had reversed in sixty seconds.
In the corridor, Endo and the Ajinomoto executive director exchanged freshly stamped letters of intent.
Paper rustled softly. The sound of leather shoes faded, swallowed by the roar of the exhaust fans.
Satsuki stood alone at the lab bench.
She used her right index and middle fingers to pick up half of the shattered amber film.
She raised it, holding it up to the light.
The pale bulb shone through the inflexible, translucent material.
The light refracted off the sharp fracture, casting a quiet amber spot in her eyes.
This brittle waste that couldn't even seal a bento box would, in a few years, be sent into the highest-grade cleanrooms. As the only substrate capable of carrying nanometer-scale transistors and preventing short circuits in precision circuits, it would choke the global supply of high-end chip packaging.
Another technical monopoly in the Saionji Family's semiconductor chain closed with that amber glimmer.
The old exhaust fan in the corner droned heavily.
Its rusted blades sliced the air, slowly pulling the pungent amino acid resin smell from the basement into the black ventilation duct.