October 27, 1989, 10:00 AM
Nikkei Average Index: 35,880 points
Saionji Construction Headquarters. First Grand Meeting Room.
The black lacquered glass conference table reflected the cold bands of LED light from the ceiling.
Eguchi Tokuhiro sat at the head of the table like a king.
He wore a sharp dark pinstripe suit. The sterling silver hidari mitsu tomoe pin on his lapel, inlaid with black onyx, caught the light with a hard glint.
He didn't stand and shout like he usually did at rallies. He leaned back in the leather chair, fingers loosely interlaced over his stomach.
The sales managers and frontline staff sat straight, all eyes on him.
The group had clearly shifted strategy again. Most of them had read the memo, but they still needed Eguchi to announce it officially.
"I assume you've all seen the Finance Department's directive," Eguchi said slowly.
"Starting this afternoon, all first-tier land parcels under Saionji Construction will be listed for sale. That means the odd-shaped lots on the outskirts of Setagaya and Nerima we bought in the last two years, plus some high-premium old factory sites."
A faint rustle ran down both sides of the table.
Several section chiefs in charge of frontline sales glanced at each other, confused. At the peak of the bubble, when all of Tokyo was buying land, selling off what they'd hoarded went against every real estate instinct.
"President," the head of First Sales, in the first seat on the left, leaned forward. His tone was careful.
"Those fringe plots are going up every day. Nomura Securities forecasts at least ten percent more growth before year-end." He swallowed. "If we liquidate now, buyers will think we're short on cash. They'll squeeze us on price…"
Eguchi smiled and gave a short chuckle. He unclasped his hands and leaned forward, thick arms on the glass tabletop.
"A cash flow problem?" Eguchi tapped the table twice. His voice was calm, dismissive, the way a major conglomerate exec talks to rookies.
"Mr. Department Head, you seem to forget who we work for."
He opened a drawer, pulled out a bound internal briefing, and tossed it to the center of the table. It slid across the glass and stopped where everyone could see.
"You've all heard about S.A. Group's cash report from last month." Eguchi's eyes swept the room. "Between convenience store sales and clothing retail alone, the group clears several billion yen in profit every month. Do we look broke to you?"
The room went dead silent.
"Look at those numbers," Eguchi said, leaning back. "The 500-meter tower in Odaiba. The glass dome in Hokkaido. Two century-scale projects burning cash daily."
"Any normal developer would run to Mitsui or Sumitomo and take hundreds of billions in high-interest bridge loans. Leverage up and keep building."
He paused. A flicker of pride crossed his face — the pride of a loyal retainer.
"But the Eldest Young Lady and the Family Head run on 'absolute safety' and 'zero debt.'"
"Senior management hates bowing to banks. They'd rather take a hit than pay pointless interest to inflate book value."
He set the tone.
"This isn't a fire sale."
"It's routine 'asset structure optimization.'"
"We're offloading non-core fringe land that's a pain to manage, and piping that cash straight into Odaiba and Hokkaido."
"We're halting external expansion. We'll bunker down and finish our core fortress."
The tension in the room eased.
Managers and staff relaxed their shoulders.
They looked at the project expense briefing on the table. The numbers were staggering — a visual punch.
Salaries were still paid on time. Retail was still running. They'd rather sell peripheral assets to fund infrastructure than over-borrow. Conservative to the point of rigid, sure, but it matched the Saionji Family's playbook: stability first.
Family business. Conservative makes sense.
That logic mostly held together.
Still, in an era where land prices jumped daily, selling land that "laid golden eggs" felt wrong to any real estate professional.
A few section chiefs exchanged looks. Doubt lingered, but they buried it.
"I see…" The First Sales head exhaled. His face settled back into business mode. "If it's a tactical pullback from the top, we'll have more confidence at the table."
"You will have confidence," Eguchi said, adjusting his cuffs. His tone went cold and hard.
"At the table, lose the desperate look."
"We're only selling these lots to focus on the towers. Prices are firm. No discounts."
"Too expensive? Tell them to walk. Plenty of people outside are waving cash to get a piece of Saionji."
"Clear?"
"Understood!" The room answered as one.
Once they accepted the explanation, these elites locked away their unease.
They sat up straighter and smoothed their suit jackets.
With "the group isn't short on cash" drilled into them, they left ready to play the most arrogant sellers in Tokyo.
Shinbashi, That Night
Cold early-winter rain mixed with wind. Drops hammered the plastic awnings outside the narrow izakayas by Shinbashi Station.
Inside one cramped tavern, a heater wheezed.
Smoke hung in the air, blurring the dim yellow lamps.
In the corner, two middle-aged men in trench coats sat at a greasy table.
The man on the left unbuttoned his coat, revealing a plain shirt underneath. He was a mid-level manager in Saionji Construction's Real Estate Section 3. He'd been at Eguchi's meeting that morning.
He poured warm sake for the man across from him.
"Yamada, let me toast you," the manager said, voice low. "About the deposit for my son's U.S. study program next month… thanks for your help."
The man called Yamada wore a nondescript dark gray coat. On paper, he was a broker. In reality, he was a senior informant for Daiei Group's intel division.
Yamada sipped and smiled, harmless.
"We're old friends. Don't mention it."
He set his cup down and leaned in, voice dropping.
"But… Saionji's been busy lately. Listing dozens of fringe lots out of nowhere."
"The street's talking — are those two big projects burning cash too fast? Is the chain about to snap?"
The Saionji manager blinked. Then he laughed under his breath like he'd heard a bad joke.
"Bankrupt? Cash flow snapping?" He pulled out a pack of Seven Stars, lit one. Blue-gray smoke blurred his face.
"Yamada, people outside don't get how deep Saionji's pockets are."
He blew a smoke ring, proud despite himself.
"I was in President Eguchi's room this morning. Our monthly rent and retail profits are absurd. The top brass isn't short on cash."
He flicked ash.
"It's just the Family Head and the Eldest Young Lady. Ultra-conservative. That 500-meter tower in Odaiba — the concrete going into the sea every day is insane."
"Hokkaido's resort? One day of utilities equals years of my salary."
"Senior management would rather liquidate fringe lots to feed those pits than borrow one yen from Mitsui Bank."
"They call it 'tactical optimization with low debt.'"
Yamada's fingers paused on his cup.
"They're skipping loans and giving up future land gains?"
Yamada sounded confused — perfectly pitched to draw more out.
"They're that rigid," the manager said, curling his lip. "They've given up on external expansion. Our orders are clear: don't drop price by one yen. We're in no rush. Take it or leave it."
Yamada listened.
He raised his cup, watching the other man's face through the steam — resentful about lost commissions, but genuine.
As a veteran broker for Department Store intel, Yamada had seen plenty of planted leaks.
But this frustration was too real to fake. And the boring details — "special concrete," "refusing bank loans" — matched fragments he'd picked up from finance circles.
He pieced it together and made his call.
Saionji wasn't broke.
They were huge, but hamstrung by an outdated zero-debt dogma. A forced tactical pullback.
Probably those stubborn elders. Scared of fast money. Relics.
"I see," Yamada said, clinking cups. "Looks like the rumors were overblown. Saionji's still solid as a mountain."
The glasses clinked with a crisp sound.
Next Morning. Akasaka-mitsuke.
Sunlight barely broke the clouds over the skyscrapers.
Akasaka Prince Hotel. Top-floor royal suite, new wing.
Persian rugs covered the floor in front of wide windows. Room temp: 24°C exactly.
Yoshiaki Tsutsumi of Seibu Group wore a dark gray silk robe.
He sat at the marble dining table, black coffee in his left hand, reading the "Analysis Report on Recent Asset Changes of the Saionji Group" Shimada had just delivered.
The report mixed the media's "infrastructure black hole" headlines, "loan refusal" rumors from Mitsui Bank, and field intel from rivals like Department Store.
Tsutsumi turned a page. His eyes stopped on "tactical contraction" and "refusal to increase bank leverage."
He set the report down and sipped his coffee.
The bitter liquid eased his frown.
"They were so bold shorting Wall Street, but now they're timid at home?" he murmured, rubbing the bone china saucer.
Then it clicked. He smiled and gave a short, soft laugh.
"So the girl everyone calls a miracle worker still can't beat the old guard in her own family."
He set the cup down.
"Her skill is real," he said, looking out the window. "Shame she was born a Saionji. All that ambition, choked by old rules and timid elders."
Secretary Shimada bowed beside him.
"Chairman. Intel says Saionji Real Estate was brutal at the table yesterday. They kicked a mid-sized developer out over a few hundred thousand yen. That hard line confirms they're not desperate for cash."
"Just bluffing," Tsutsumi said, picking up his red-and-blue pencil.
Skipping bank credit while burning cash on heavy assets, and being forced by family rules to give up land appreciation? Tragic. Stupid.
"That Odaiba tower. That Hokkaido dome."
Tsutsumi stood and walked to the window, looking down at Tokyo in the morning light.
"Infrastructure costs don't rise linearly. They explode."
"Those conservative fossils think selling a few scraps will fill that pit."
"But once that cash burns out, and the Ministry of Finance tightens credit, what will that girl sell next?"
He turned and walked to the marble desk.
His eyes passed over the asset reports and stopped on a partial map of Hokkaido.
"The 'Crystal Palace' in Ginza. The 'Pink Building' in Akasaka…"
He picked up the pencil, thumbing the wood. Greed showed plain on his face.
"And that… glass dome I've wanted for years."
He tapped the pencil hard on Niseko's coordinates. Thud-thud.
"Tell Finance," Tsutsumi said, voice low and flat. "Pause the two Seibu Railway acquisitions. Pull every liquid yen we have."
"Since that sweet apple is ripe, let them hold it a few more days." He leaned over the map and gave a short laugh. "Until they really can't hold, and the heavy oil bills snap their chain."
"I'll bring my checkbook and swallow those core buildings — and that spectacle — in one bite."
Saionji Construction. Real Estate Trading Hall.
The air here wasn't cold at all.
Hundreds of small and mid-sized developers, brokers, and frenzied investors packed the 500-square-meter hall shoulder to shoulder.
Land in Tokyo was impossible to buy. Now Saionji was selling?
First reaction: Has Saionji lost its mind? Selling golden geese?
Second reaction: Buy. Now. If management's crazy, grab what you can before it's gone.
In a semi-open booth at the center, Takahashi, a junior salesman for Saionji Construction, lounged in a leather swivel chair.
His dark suit was perfect. Glasses reflected the lights. He didn't even open the land contract in front of him.
Across from him sat a flushed, sweating president of a mid-sized developer. He dabbed his neck with a handkerchief, eyes darting to rivals fighting over other lots.
"Takahashi," the president said, voice sharp with urgency. "This odd lot in Shinagawa was 600 million yen last year. You're listing 850 million now — almost 30% up! If Saionji's dumping this much land, you should give a real discount, right?"
Takahashi looked at him — hungry but scared to miss out. He felt a sneer rise.
He remembered Eguchi's speech yesterday.
He sat up and tapped the thick contract twice.
"President Yamada," Takahashi said flatly, skipping pleasantries. "You've been listening to rumors about our cash flow."
He lifted his teacup and blew the steam.
"Senior management is selling non-core lots because Saionji Group has social responsibility. We feel obliged to give back, so we're offering prime assets to the market."
"Also, we're focusing resources on the new Odaiba headquarters. This is asset optimization. Given our scale, it would be a social loss if we weren't prudent."
"Our cash flow is fine. We don't need to beg you to buy."
He set the cup down, leaned back, arms crossed, chin up.
"This lot is 850 million yen. Not a yen less."
His eyes slid past Yamada to the chaos in the hall.
"If it's too expensive, don't sign today."
"Out there, a dozen firms are lined up to take what Saionji is offering."
"In a market where land jumps daily, getting a lot without months of bidding is a gift."
Yamada looked back.
At the next table, another developer was slamming his company seal onto a contract. The crowd murmured, envious.
In this era, everyone believed the "land myth." Everyone was terrified of missing the wealth train.
If land keeps rising, 30% premium means nothing.
Panic gone. Greed took over.
"I'll sign!" Yamada yanked the contract over before Takahashi could change his mind. He fumbled his ink pad and seal from his briefcase.
The wooden seal clacked the glass table.
Snap. He pressed it hard on the signature line.
Red ink sank into the paper.
All afternoon, the same scene played out across the hall.
Scraps on the edge, high-risk and high-premium.
Fed by the most arrogant seller to red-eyed, humble wolves.
AI Model: gemini-3.1-flash-lite
As a veteran broker for the Department Store intelligence division, Yamada had seen too many deliberately leaked pieces of false information.
But the frustration and resentment before him, born from cognitive limitations, were too vivid; they were absolutely not something a lower-level supervisor could act out.
More importantly, those tedious details about "special concrete" and "refusing bank loans" fit perfectly with the fragments of information he had recently picked up on the fringes of the financial circle.
With all the clues pieced together, Yamada quickly made what he considered his most professional judgment in his heart.
The Saionji Family was not at the end of their rope at all.
They remained massive, merely tripped up by their own outdated, rigid dogma of zero debt, forcing them into a passive tactical contraction.
It was probably those stubborn family elders within their clan; they didn't know the times had changed, and they were afraid whenever they saw money being made too quickly. They really were relics.
"I see." Yamada smiled, raised his glass, and clinked it with the supervisor's. "It seems the rumors outside were indeed exaggerated."