A dull, low hum vibrated through the warm North American black walnut floorboards, pulsing up into the hard soles of his leather shoes.
The vibration came from deep underground. The heavy-duty boiler matrix was running flat out, pushed past every safety margin its designers had intended.
It was mid-December. Niseko, Hokkaido, was buried under the worst blizzard since winter began.
Yoshiaki Tsutsumi sat ramrod straight in the panoramic suite on the top floor of the Gokurakutenshu, a room once reserved for the Saionji Family. He wore a bespoke deep-red velvet suit and cradled a thick Cuban Cohiba cigar in his left hand.
Spread across the marble desk was a fifty-page financial report:
Gokurakukan First Month Operational Financial Results.
With his right hand, he gripped a solid gold letter opener between his index and middle fingers. The blade slid slowly along the edge of the thick paper, leaving a clean, visible crease.
His eyes skipped the line items and went straight to the expense summary.
Even for the head of the Seibu empire — a man used to nine-figure budgets — his grip on the gold handle tightened when he saw the number for energy and infrastructure maintenance.
The tip pierced the page with a short, sharp rip.
Keeping a constant 28°C tropical climate inside that massive glass dome was a financial hemorrhage. The daily burn: hundreds of tons of specialized heavy oil, industrial-grade electricity for the de-icing systems and artificial wave hydraulics, plus payroll for thousands of staff and a dedicated botanical team.
The Saionji elders called this place a "capital black hole." A poisoned apple. To them, it broke every rule of safe commercial real estate.
That old fossil Kensuke must be losing sleep over all that red ink, Yoshiaki thought, smirking.
He set the letter opener on the rim of the crystal ashtray and flipped to the final page: revenue and net profit.
The ember of his cigar flared bright.
For half a breath, his breathing hitched. His chest rose sharply. His shirt collar suddenly felt tight.
In its first month, Gokurakutenshu had drawn Japan's new rich, Kansai manufacturing tycoons, and a handful of overseas billionaires. Their spending wasn't just high — it was vindictive. It shattered every actuarial model.
The casino on the ground floor devoured chips by the second. The Michelin-starred restaurants and gold-leaf spas were booked solid until spring. At the very top, the private auction hall was a black hole for wealth — single gavel strikes moved billions as conglomerates bought "status" in the form of European antiques and Impressionist paintings. The luxury villas hidden in the fir forests outside had been leased out long-term at ten times premium.
That flood of cash didn't just cover the terrifying utility bill. It left a staggering net profit at the bottom.
A number big enough to multiply Seibu Land Development's IPO valuation several times over.
"Fools," Yoshiaki murmured into the quiet suite.
No — maybe not fools. If the Saionji elders hadn't been so cautious, Seibu would never have gotten this bargain.
He stood and walked to the 360-degree curved glass wall.
Outside, -20°C winds hurled snow against the structure. Ice hit the heated glass and flashed instantly to steam.
Inside, he looked down at the man-made tropical rainforest, glowing gold and ethereal blue.
On the white sand beach, guests in designer swimwear sipped iced cocktails and laughed under artificial waves. Money had bought them a Hawaiian afternoon in the middle of hellish winter.
And the Saionji Family had sold this money-printing machine — and the class privilege it created — for a mere 350 billion yen. All to keep their "zero debt" rule.
They saw the asset burn rate and panicked. They never understood what people would pay for exclusivity and vanity once you put it on a platter.
And Japan's economy was still climbing. Spending power would only get stronger.
If it printed money like this in month one, the future numbers would be astronomical.
"Shimada." Yoshiaki turned.
His secretary, who had been standing silent by the door, stepped forward. Back straight, hands at his sides.
"Is everything ready for tonight's victory banquet?" Yoshiaki asked.
"All arranged, Chairman."
"The circular theater on the third floor of the Gokurakutenshu has been cleared and closed to the public. Tonight it's only Seibu core executives and invited friends from politics and business. The Broadway troupe takes the stage in thirty minutes."
"Good."
Yoshiaki grabbed his suit jacket from the chair and shrugged it on. He faced the full-length mirror, studying the man at the peak of his power.
With this jewel claimed, Seibu's grip on Japanese real estate — and entertainment — was absolute.
"Let's go," he said. "Time to inspect our territory."
---
Gokurakutenshu, Third Floor
Inside the double-height circular theater, the ornate Baroque dome cast an intoxicating glow.
The air was thick with the rich scent of French black truffles and the fermented fruit of aged champagne.
The individual seats that once filled the center of the theater were gone. In their place stood deep-red velvet sofas arranged in a semi-circle around the main stage.
In the very center of the hall, a massive champagne tower made of hundreds of stacked Baccarat crystal flutes reflected the stage spotlights.
Dozens of core executives from the Seibu Group, along with a few powerful Diet members, stood in small groups, wine glasses in hand.
Their faces showed an irrepressible ecstasy and pride.
The brass indicator light of the elevator chimed with a crisp ding.
The doors slid open.
Yoshiaki Tsutsumi stepped out.
The chatter in the theater stopped for a beat. Then came a burst of thunderous applause. Every executive and guest turned as one to face the man who had pulled off this legendary coup for Seibu.
"Chairman! Congratulations on securing this wonder of the century!"
The Development Director of Seibu Land was first to step forward, glass in hand, his face lit with near-fanatical flattery.
"I saw the financial summary this morning. The net profit for month one is nothing short of a miracle. In all of Japan, only your courage and vision could see the true value of this prize."
"Exactly. Those old fossils in the Saionji Family were scared witless by a little overhead and handed over this money-printing machine." A nearby Cabinet member leaned in. "Chairman Tsutsumi's move to 'win without a drop of blood' was brilliant. From now on, all of Hokkaido is Seibu's backyard."
"Yes, yes, Chairman Tsutsumi is unprecedented…"
Praise came like a tide.
"You give me too much credit," Yoshiaki said with a smile. He didn't stop to chat. He walked straight through the path the crowd cleared for him. The arrogance in his eyes only grew.
He headed for the central sofa with the best view.
But he didn't sit.
For a conqueror, a throne was comfortable. But before he enjoyed the spoils, he needed a coronation — something to push his prestige to its peak.
He turned and looked at the massive champagne tower in the center of the hall.
"Please, Chairman Tsutsumi, open the celebration for the wonder you conquered!" the Development Director called out, pointing excitedly.
"That's right! Let Chairman Tsutsumi pour the first glass of victory wine!"
The room erupted in agreement. Applause thundered through the circular theater again.
A waiter in a white uniform carried a newly opened bottle of Dom Pérignon to the tower.
Shimada stepped forward, took the heavy bottle, and presented it to Yoshiaki with both hands.
Yoshiaki gripped the cool, dark green bottle. He looked around at the eyes filled with awe and hunger.
This champagne tower, overflowing from top to bottom, was a perfect replica of the Seibu empire's power structure.
Only when I stand at the top do those below get a share of the overflow, Yoshiaki thought, savoring the dominance.
His wrist tilted.
Golden liquid poured into the top glass.
It overflowed, cascading down the staggered crystal like a waterfall, filling every glass below. Bubbles rose and burst under the lights with a constant fizz. The sound echoed under the hollow dome, rattling every nerve in the room.
"Good!" The Development Director led the applause. The room exploded in clapping again.
Yoshiaki handed the empty bottle to a waiter. Shimada picked up two flutes from the bottom tier and handed one to Yoshiaki.
Yoshiaki gripped the slender stem.
He turned to face the room.
The applause died at the right moment. Everyone leaned in to listen.
"Everyone," Yoshiaki's voice was deep and resonant, cutting through the soft orchestral music.
"For months, people whispered that Seibu overpaid to take over this mess in Hokkaido. Called it a reckless gamble. Said we'd be dragged into the mud by the energy bill."
He raised his glass. The liquid swayed.
"But the financial report this morning answered those fools."
"The Saionji Family built an incredible foundation. But their old, withered stomachs couldn't digest this premium fruit."
Yoshiaki's gaze swept over the flushed directors in the front row.
"They retreated out of fear. We triumphed out of greed."
"From today, Seibu's territory runs from the steel canyons of Tokyo, all the way north, over the rolling mountains of Karuizawa."
"In this frozen northern land, the Seibu Group is the undisputed king."
"To the era of Seibu!"
Yoshiaki raised his glass high.
"To the Chairman!"
"To Seibu!"
Dozens of voices became a torrent, echoing under the dome.
Crystal clinked against crystal.
Yoshiaki tipped his head back and drained the chilled champagne.
The bubbles and rich wine slid down his throat, sending a pleasant shiver through him. He handed the empty glass to a waiter and sat on the main velvet sofa.
The cushions sank deep under his weight.
The stage lights dimmed. Two sharp white spotlights hit center stage. A top Broadway dance troupe stepped out to upbeat jazz, kicking off tonight's private show for the Seibu empire.
A senior Cabinet member beside Yoshiaki leaned in.
This old-guard politician had been crushed by the Saionji Family in alliance with Osawa Ichiro last year during the Nagatacho reshuffle. He set his glass down hard on the coffee table.
"Chairman Tsutsumi, seeing the Saionji take a fall like this is satisfying." The politician's face was all flattery, his tone gleeful. "They used to throw their weight around in Nagatacho because their coffers were full. Now their cash flow's been choked by infrastructure. That arrogant girl of theirs hasn't shown her face at a single salon lately."
He lowered his voice.
"But that plot they own in Odaiba — the location is perfect. Since they can't even keep the Gokurakukan, their cash flow must be bleeding. Should we lean on them over the transportation permits for Odaiba?"
Yoshiaki leaned back, tapping his fingers on the armrest.
"No rush."
He watched the dancers in feathered costumes kick high, colored lights reflecting in his eyes.
"The Saionji Family has sunk tens of billions into that pit in Odaiba. All their hopes are on a tower that's still just a blueprint. If we push too hard, a wounded lion bites back. That's unnecessary trouble."
Yoshiaki turned his head, looking past the politician to the massive floor-to-ceiling glass.
"Let them keep burning money in Odaiba. We wait until they've torched the cash they made selling buildings, and until the Ministry of Finance tightens credit around their necks."
His mouth curled into an ambitious smile.
"Then they'll hand that half-built tower to my desk, just like they did today."
The fever in the theater kept building.
Aged champagne and top-shelf Bordeaux flowed like tap water into the executives and politicians.
Yoshiaki sat quietly on his throne, holding a fresh glass.
His fingers gripped the slender stem so tight he nearly crushed it.
Jazz and unbridled laughter pounded in his ears.
Suddenly, high-pressure dry ice jets blasted white fog across the stage.
The mist filled the circular theater.
The champagne surface trembled in the crystal. The liquid caught the light from the chandelier overhead, throwing twisted golden shadows on the walls of the dark private boxes.
And beyond that deceptive, specialized glass…
The Hokkaido night was ink-black. The blizzard howled without pause, countless ice shards hammering the transparent dome, slowly burying this massive, glowing crystal ball into the frozen, white abyss.
Behold as he feasts his guests.