October 30, 1989, 10:00 AM
Tokyo, Bunkyo Ward — Saionji Main Family Residence, Annex Tea Room
Cold late-autumn rain tapped against the remaining maple leaves in the courtyard. Several dark red leaves broke free and landed silently on the wet bluestone path.
Inside the tea room, a wisp of steam carrying the scent of premium gyokuro rose from a celadon teapot on the red sandalwood table.
Managing Director Endo sat in seiza at the lower seat.
He took a tightly bound intelligence summary from his black briefcase and handed it to the head of the table with both hands. Clipped to the top was a market slip fresh from a Bloomberg terminal that morning, black ink marking:
****
"Head of the family, Young Miss," Endo said, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses. He kept his voice low.
"After several days of media pressure, plus the aggressive posture we deliberately projected in the real estate trading hall, public reaction has solidified exactly as planned."
Shuichi picked up his teacup, blew away the floating tea leaf, and nodded for him to continue.
"Based on external communications and business salon conversations intercepted by SIS—Saionji Intelligence Service," Endo flipped to the first page, "a unified consensus has formed in the business community, especially inside Seibu Group."
"They're convinced a power shift has occurred inside the Saionji family. They believe the cash burn from Odaiba and Hokkaido has sent the conservative elders into a panic. To protect the 'zero debt' rule, the older generation supposedly bypassed the Young Miss and seized control. They think we're now scrambling to sell marginal assets to plug the infrastructure hole."
Shuichi set his teacup back on the tray and shook his head.
"The imagination of these zaibatsu really is something. They've invented an entire drama of family infighting."
Behind Shuichi, Satsuki's lips curved slightly.
Today she wore a light blue home kimono, her long hair pulled back loosely.
The Saionji family was currently running a dangerous "dual-track" operation: publicly dumping marginal domestic assets while secretly moving funds offshore. At the same time, their short-selling plan against the entire Japanese market was grinding through the tedious deep-water prep stage.
After spending the night calculating offshore trust accounts, even Satsuki's young body felt the fatigue.
She raised a wide sleeve to her lips and hid a small yawn.
"Mmm… since they want this 'truth' so badly," Satsuki said, lowering her hand, a trace of laziness in her voice, "then we'll gift-wrap it and serve it right to their table."
Her gaze moved through the rising steam and settled on the elder sitting across from Endo.
Saionji Kensuke.
The most senior member of the family by rank, and the conservative who had been most distressed during the Great Hall meeting a few days ago.
"Lord Kensuke."
Elder Kensuke had been resting with his eyes closed. At Satsuki's voice, he opened them and straightened his hunched back.
"I am here. Your orders, Young Miss?"
"I need you to represent the Saionji family and visit the Akasaka Prince Hotel," Satsuki said calmly.
"Meet Chairman Yoshiaki Tsutsumi. Hand him the property transfer documents for the Akasaka 'Pink Building.'"
The air in the tea room went still.
Elder Kensuke stiffened. His cloudy eyes widened as he stared at the smiling girl in disbelief.
"Eh? I… I'm to go?"
In the Saionji family, elders traditionally only offered counsel at family meetings or maintained Old Kazoku etiquette. Real negotiations and frontline battles were always handled by young executives under the family head. Being called to divest a core asset was unheard of.
Worse, the current rumor was "elder takeover." For the Young Miss to send him—the most stereotypical conservative elder—to see Tsutsumi… was this a test? Or a prelude to a purge?
Fear crawled up Kensuke's spine like a cold snake. He remembered a branch family troublemaker from a year ago who had relied on seniority to defy Satsuki's orders. After one stormy night, the man's name simply vanished from the family registry, as if he'd never existed.
Cold sweat soaked Kensuke's undershirt.
He dropped forward into a full prostration, hands pressed to the tatami, forehead nearly touching the floor.
"Young Miss, please believe me!" Kensuke's voice shook with terror, words tumbling out. "My loyalty to the family head and to you is witnessed by heaven and earth! I have no ambition to overstep or seize power! Those rumors are nonsense—I wouldn't dare if I had ten thousand lives…"
"Lord Kensuke, you misunderstand."
Satsuki cut him off gently. She picked up the teapot and personally poured a cup of hot tea. Standing, her white cotton socks silent on the tatami, she walked to Kensuke, knelt, and slid the cup toward his hands.
"Drink some tea first. Warm yourself."
Her tone was soft, soothing.
Kensuke looked up, trembling. He glanced at the steaming tea, then at Satsuki's clear eyes. His throat worked. He took the cup with both hands and sipped shakily. The warmth eased the fear in his chest.
"I'm sending you because you're the most suitable," Satsuki said, returning to her seat.
"Yoshiaki Tsutsumi is suspicious and conceited. If we sent President Eguchi, his youthful energy would make Tsutsumi think the family is still under the conservatives' thumb. He'd smell a trap."
She smiled at Kensuke.
"But you're different."
"You are the highest-ranking elder of the Saionji family. You have the most authentic rigidity and pride of the Old Kazoku. The moment you sit before him in a kimono, the 'old fogies in charge' puzzle piece in his mind will snap into place."
Kensuke finally understood. This wasn't a test. It was theater. A play that required him to play himself.
"I… I understand." He exhaled and wiped his forehead. "But Young Miss, I'm no good at business negotiations. Facing a tycoon like Chairman Tsutsumi, if I say the wrong thing…"
"You don't need to act," Satsuki interrupted. "Just remember the Great Hall meeting a few days ago. Remember the real anger and heartbreak you felt when you heard I was selling core Tokyo land—when you thought the family foundation was being destroyed."
"Bring that authentic Old Kazoku pride. Bring that frustration of being forced to sell ancestral property to clean up after the youth."
Satsuki's gaze turned sharp.
"Show Yoshiaki Tsutsumi that emotion, exactly as it is."
Kensuke stared at the teacup. Thinking of the Pink Building's massive, stable monthly cash flow, thinking of handing that golden goose to Seibu Group, genuine pain and resentment surged in his chest.
"I understand," Kensuke said, straightening his back. The dignity of an Old Kazoku elder returned to him.
"I'll make sure he sees the Saionji family's 'stubborn' side."
…
2:00 PM. Akasaka Prince Hotel. Top floor Royal Suite.
The climate control hummed quietly.
Yoshiaki Tsutsumi sat upright in a leather sofa, wearing a dark gray Italian suit. He turned a gold cigar cutter over in his left hand.
Secretary Shimada opened the heavy wooden door, walked to the sofa, and bowed.
"Chairman, the Saionji delegation has arrived."
Tsutsumi stopped fiddling with the cutter.
"Who? Eguchi Tokuhiro? Or that financial steward, Endo?"
"Neither." Shimada's expression was odd. "It's Saionji Kensuke. The highest-ranking elder of the Saionji family."
Tsutsumi's eyelid twitched.
"Oh? Kensuke…" He repeated the name in his head.
A contemptuous smile spread across his mouth.
Just as I thought. The family infighting rumors are true.
If this were normal business, they'd never send an old fossil who knows nothing about modern finance to sell a core asset.
"Show him in," Tsutsumi said. He tossed the cigar cutter onto the coffee table and straightened his tie.
"Serve our senior guest the best tea."
Footsteps echoed in the hallway.
Elder Kensuke entered the suite.
He wore an immaculate black montsuki haori hakama made of Kyoto Nishijin-ori silk.
The old-fashioned formal wear, normally reserved for the most traditional ceremonies, clashed starkly with the modern, Western luxury of the suite.
The attendant behind him didn't carry a briefcase. He reverently held a wooden box wrapped in deep purple furoshiki.
Tsutsumi took it all in from the sofa.
This absurdly old-school display erased the last of his doubt.
So there really are fossils left in modern Japan.
"Mr. Kensuke. An honor," Tsutsumi said, standing to greet him. His face wore the flawless, polite mask a junior shows a senior.
"What brings the pillar of your family to my humble establishment?"
The politeness carried a sharp probe.
Kensuke didn't answer immediately.
His cloudy eyes swept the lavish suite before settling on Tsutsumi's face.
The old man's gaze held no strength, only deep exhaustion and resentment.
"Chairman Tsutsumi."
Kensuke's voice was hoarse, stiff with stubborn pride.
"I didn't come to drink tea."
He walked to the marble coffee table but didn't sit.
He gave his attendant a small nod.
The attendant stepped forward, set the furoshiki bundle on the table, and carefully untied the knot.
He opened the moisture-proof paulownia box inside.
Kensuke reached out with age-spotted hands.
The moment he touched the document, grief seemed to rise from his bones. His fingers trembled.
He took a breath and removed the "Akasaka Pink Building Property Transfer Letter of Intent", placing it in front of Tsutsumi.
"These are all the deeds and property documents for the Pink Building in Akasaka."
Tsutsumi's eyes dropped to the document.
Though he'd expected it, seeing the prized asset—prime Tokyo real estate with massive daily cash flow—physically in front of him still made his breath catch.
"Mr. Kensuke, what is the meaning of this?" Tsutsumi looked up, feigning surprise.
"This building is the Saionji family's cash cow in Minato Ward. How could Shuichi-kun and Satsuki bear to part with it?"
The question lit a fuse.
Kensuke's head snapped up. Fury blazed in his cloudy eyes.
His composed cheeks flushed red.
"Don't mention that arrogant girl to me!" Kensuke's cane struck the marble floor with a dull thud.
"Kids these days go to Wall Street, learn a few American finance tricks, and think they can buy the world with a spreadsheet!"
Kensuke's chest heaved. Spittle flew onto the edge of the coffee table.
"She has talent. I admit she made money in clothing and convenience stores. But she's too arrogant! That deep-sea abyss in Odaiba, and that impractical glass dome in Hokkaido! Those two monsters bleed the family dry every single day!"
Tsutsumi sat quietly.
He picked up his fresh black coffee, hiding a smile he could barely control.
"What has the Saionji family relied on for a thousand years? Caution! The confidence of never owing a bank a single yen!"
Kensuke slammed a hand on the table, the very picture of a rigid Showa-era elder.
"To keep that ignorant girl from drowning the whole family in high-interest loans, we old bones had to take control."
The old man's eyes fixed on the property document. Real moisture glistened in them.
"This Pink Building is a golden goose. But to plug the infrastructure holes, for the family's health…"
He gritted his teeth, each word forced out.
"Today, I have to let it go."
The suite went quiet except for the whisper of the air conditioning.
Tsutsumi sipped his coffee.
The bitterness spread across his tongue, but his heart was sweet.
The anger of disappointment.
The heartbreak of cleaning up after the young.
The pedantry of clinging to zero debt.
Every word, every expression, every trembling hand from Kensuke was perfect.
Good. As long as he's afraid, everything gets easier.
The Saionji family is now run by old fossils who don't understand modern finance and only cling to rules and face.
This is a gift from the gods.
But he knew this "old guard in power" situation wouldn't last.
He didn't know what mistake Saionji Satsuki had made internally to lose the steering wheel, but he knew her methods.
She would counterattack soon and retake absolute control.
So this window to profit from their misfortune was narrow. He had to use every second.
For Seibu Group, with unlimited credit, buying this building wouldn't hurt at all.
He had to show these old fossils maximum "respect" and "support."
Let them taste the sweetness of selling buildings to plug holes. Reinforce Kensuke's position as conservative leader. Delay Satsuki's return.
Then they'd keep selling, until they obediently placed the Hokkaido Gokurakukan on his desk too.
Tsutsumi set down his cup.
He didn't haggle. He skipped negotiation entirely.
He reached into his jacket, pulled out his personal checkbook, and uncapped his fountain pen.
With a flourish, he wrote an astronomical figure at a shocking premium.
He tore off the check and stood.
Holding it by two corners, he leaned forward slightly and presented it to Kensuke with the solemnity reserved for an equal head of house.
"Mr. Kensuke," Tsutsumi said, his tone full of mutual respect.
"It is a blessing for the Saionji family—and for us, their longtime allies—that a steady, far-sighted elder like you has stepped forward in a crisis."
He sighed, as if genuinely worried for an old friend's house.
"Young people today, after a few years abroad, get blinded by balance sheets."
"That young girl is clever, but she lacks the composure to steer a century-old conglomerate."
Tsutsumi nudged the check forward another half-inch, eyes sincere.
"I hope this capital helps you stabilize the family quickly."
Kensuke stared at the check.
He gritted his teeth, but the humiliation of selling ancestral property was soothed by Tsutsumi's flattery. He'd been given face, and an exit.
What replaced it was a complex look: tragic heroism mixed with relief at securing life-saving funds.
He slowly reached out with both hands and took the check.
"Thank you for your generosity, Chairman Tsutsumi."
Kensuke didn't linger.
He turned, took his attendant's arm, and walked to the door with unsteady steps.
The heavy wooden door opened, then closed.
The suite fell silent again.
Only the wall lamp cast a dim yellow glow.
Tsutsumi held his half-full coffee.
He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.
Outside, autumn rain still fell.
His gaze cut through the rain to a few streets away, where the Pink Building's neon sign blurred in the mist, giving off an alluring hazy glow.
Tsutsumi lifted his chin and pressed the property document against the cold glass.
The white paper covered the building's reflection in the rainy night.
He stared at the bright red Saionji seal—the mark of concession and weakness—and rubbed his fingertips over it greedily.
"The next piece should be Gokurakukan."
The low murmur vanished into the rustling autumn rain outside.