January 4, 1990, Tokyo.
The New Year glow hadn't faded. Pine and bamboo decorations still lined the streets. People passed each other with bright "Happy New Year!" greetings, faces full of belief that the nineties would be Japan's "Golden Decade."
After all, just days ago, the year-end close had made history: Nikkei 225 at 39,890.50 points. On every corner, people were certain — 40,000 was just a sheet of paper to punch through. 50,000, 60,000… all just around the corner.
8:00 AM. Tokyo Stock Exchange. "Great Opening Ceremony."
The brass ceremonial bell gleamed. Five women in formal furisode kimonos stood by it, hands folded.
The Minister of Finance stepped onto the dais, beaming. He took the wooden mallet from an attendant and raised it high.
"Banzai!"
Dong—
The bell's note rang under the dome, then vanished beneath the roar of thousands of red-vested traders on the floor.
"It's quite lively."
Chiyoda Ward, Marunouchi. Saionji Industries HQ, Top-Floor Strategy Room.
Saionji Satsuki sat on a soft armchair, watching the live broadcast on the wall TV. She held a small lacquerware bowl of steaming red bean soup. Two lightly charred mochi floated in the thick paste, giving off a sweet, warm smell.
She took a spoonful. The sweetness cut the early winter chill.
Shuichi stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, hands behind his back, watching the fanatic faces on screen. His brow was creased.
"Ministry of Finance and Bank of Japan people are all there," he said, turning. "Yasushi Mieno just raised rates days ago, and now he's up there leading the 'Banzai' chant. What are these bureaucrats thinking?"
"The louder the festival, the lonelier it is when it ends, Father."
Satsuki set the bowl down. The spoon clinked softly against porcelain.
She dabbed her mouth with a white napkin.
"The bureaucrats are scared. But they still need the illusion of prosperity to buy time."
"They want a 'soft landing.' It's too late for that."
She glanced at the wall clock. The second hand clicked past twelve.
"It's nine o'clock."
"Open the market."
---
Tokyo Stock Exchange, Trading Floor.
The ceremony's heat still hung in the air, but two thousand traders were already back at their desks.
Above them, the ten-meter mechanical flip board shrieked. Clack-clack-clack-clack— Black-and-white plates tumbled at full speed.
Everyone looked up, flushed, holding their breath for the number that would define a new era.
One hundred and ten points. That was all. Then 40,000 would be real.
The gears bit. The plates stopped.
In the roaring, packed hall, a tiny sound slipped out from somewhere.
"Eh?"
Front-row veterans froze, arms half-raised.
Nikkei 225 Index: 39,780 points
The first day of the New Year hadn't opened with a surge.
The Nikkei gapped up, twitched higher by a dozen points on momentum, then hit a glass ceiling. It started a dull, heavy slide.
The hall went dead silent for several seconds.
"Washout! Institutions are washing the market!"
A sweat-soaked retail trader on the second-floor gallery suddenly laughed, hysterical.
"Technical pullback before 40,000! They're shaking out the weak hands! Don't sell!"
That self-delusion hit like a match. The hall reignited.
At his console, young trader Matsumoto gripped his phone, sweat running into his collar.
"Buy! Twenty thousand Daiwa Construction! Market order!"
He hammered his keyboard, shouting at the pit liaison.
Sell orders bled out — small, steady, endless. Like rusty water from a pipe, eating the wall of bids below.
Every time Matsumoto hit buy, the fill came in two seconds. It felt like invisible hands were calmly handing him every share he wanted.
"Something's wrong…"
An older trader next to him wiped his forehead, eyes on the tape.
"This selling is too even. No panic. This is big money distributing."
"Who cares who's selling! Take it!" Matsumoto's eyes were red. He couldn't hear the warning. "Last discount before 40,000! Client margin accounts are maxed — full leverage!"
Keyboards and phones wove a net of noise.
Greed ran every body.
---
Tap, tap, tap.
New York, Midtown Manhattan. S.A. Investment Trading Floor.
Late night. Cold rain lashed the bulletproof windows, smearing Wall Street's neon into color blocks.
The main lights were off. Hundreds of terminals glowed ghostly green.
Chief Actuary David stood at the main desk. His white shirt was soaked with sweat, plastered to his back.
"Market's open," David said, voice shaking. "Spot is sliding."
Frank, in a charcoal suit, one hand in his pocket, stood behind him. He sipped cold black coffee from a mug.
"Who's dumping?" Frank's tone was flat.
David swallowed and pulled up the flow data.
"Foreign capital," he said, staring at the stream. "Goldman, Morgan Stanley, Barings… through hundreds of shell accounts. Pressing slow, gentle."
He turned, bloodshot.
"Wall Street bastards. Yesterday they were on CNBC saying Nikkei to 100,000. Today they're sprinting for the exits. Say one thing, do another."
"Normal business," Frank said, eyes on the big ticker above. "Someone has to hold the bag at the top so they can leave."
"Anything in options?"
"Nikkei 225 long-dated puts on CME," David said, breathing hard. "Last ten minutes, IV ticked up. Our deep-out-of-the-money contracts — premium went from $0.05 to $0.07."
Two cents.
But with $300 billion notional, that flicker meant astronomical paper gains.
"Do we hit the spot? Sell some puts for profit?" David's hand hovered over the desk. "Liquidity's thin. A little pressure and it implodes."
"Shut up. Hands off the keyboard."
Frank's voice cut like ice. He walked to the screen, scanning the green numbers.
"Tokyo's euphoric. They think this is a dip to buy."
He looked at David.
"The avalanche hasn't started. If you scare them now, the retail crowd wakes up."
"Stay silent."
"These retail investors still have cash. Waste not to take it."
He set his mug down on the cork coaster.
"Let the bullets fly for a while."
---
3:00 PM. Tokyo Stock Exchange.
The closing bell rang.
The score for the Great Opening Ceremony locked in:
Nikkei 225 Index: 39,688 points
Down 202.
Not a crash. Not even a "slump" by Tokyo standards. Two hundred points was noise in a market used to 500-point swings.
Retail investors left chatting. The evening papers were already printed: "Great Opening Ceremony Smooth; Minor Pullback Is Buying Opportunity."
But in Ginza 7-chome, in the back booth of club "Lumiere," the air was fractured.
Matsuura, president of Matsuura Construction, slumped in the sofa.
His French-cuff shirt was open, silk tie yanked loose. His face was flushed, forehead and nose beaded with sweat.
Two hostesses in evening gowns flanked him, professional smiles fixed, dropping ice into his empty glass.
In the next booth, real estate peers talked low. The mood was heavy.
"Today's open was ugly," a building materials supplier said, cigarette in hand. "Slow bleed all day. BOJ rate hike finally biting?"
"Yeah," a trading exec sighed. "Feels like liquidity dried up since year-end. Chiba Bank's loan officers are dodging me. Bridge loans are locked tight."
Bang!
Matsuura sat up and slammed his palm on the marble table.
Glasses jumped. Amber liquid splashed the polished stone.
"Cowards!"
His voice was raw from alcohol. He pointed at them, lips twisted in a manic sneer.
"One little pullback and you fold? The index didn't print 40,000 today because foreigners are shaking the tree! This is the golden pit of a lifetime!"
He shoved the hostesses aside, grabbed a fresh whisky, and waved it.
"This morning I pledged three company plots and pulled another five billion yen from the bank! All-in, buying the dip!" His eyes were bloodshot. "Tomorrow we rip higher. What I bought today will make more in one day than you make in ten years!"
The others went quiet. They looked at him with something close to pity.
He drained the glass.
The liquor burned down.
He slammed the glass back. His hand shook violently on the crystal.
He clenched his teeth, forcing down the spasm in his throat.
Idiot, idiot, idiot!!! Why did I study finance?!
600% debt ratio. 9% annual on short-term bridges. Today's 200-point drop put nine figures of paper loss on him. Cash flow zero. He needed a vertical rip tomorrow just to survive today.
If it dropped a few hundred more, Chiba Bank would margin-call him to death.
He had no cash left.
I'm going to die.
Fear was a cold snake around his heart.
So he roared. He used arrogance as a gag to choke the debt math screaming in his head.
On the wall, a color TV silently played financial news.
Under it, green candlesticks showed the day:
Nikkei 225 closes down first day. Weak trend.
Matsuura looked up at the green line.
Can't go up. Can't go up, can it?
"What are you looking at! What's there to see!"
He screamed.
He grabbed the crystal ashtray, swung it in a full arc, and hurled it at the TV.
Crash!
Glass exploded. The picture tube imploded. Sparks jumped from the board, hissing with burnt ozone.
"Ah—!"
The hostesses screamed and dove into the sofa corner.
Guests stared, shocked.
Matsuura heaved, chest pumping, eyes wild and broken.
"Music! Max volume!"
He bellowed at the mama-san who ran in.
"Wine! The most expensive bottles! My tab!"
He gasped, yanked a hostess into his arms, and buried his face in her perfume-heavy neck as electronic dance music detonated from the speakers.
He shut his eyes. Tried to drown his senses in bass.
---
Saionji Industries HQ, Top Floor Strategy Room. 3:10 PM.
The screen was frozen. That green negative bar was now history.
Shuichi stared at it for a long time.
"It fell."
He exhaled and wiped his palms with a handkerchief.
"Down two hundred. BOJ hike is showing. Momentum shifted."
"But… only two hundred." He frowned, voice odd. "So… it started?" He turned to his daughter on the sofa, self-mocking. "That's too calm. I expected screams today… but they're still buying blind, aren't they?"
Satsuki set down small silver shears.
On the clay pot, a pruned black pine branch lay in the soil.
"When an avalanche begins, it starts with one pebble, Father."
She looked at the bonsai. Her technique had slipped lately — too much work.
"The market's in the 'numbing phase.' The clever gamblers will call every drop a buy point, until their last yen is in the pit."
She wiped sap from the shears with white cotton.
"A dull knife drains blood best."
She set the shears on the red sandalwood table, stood, and went to the desk.
Top-secret international faxes were stacked there.
"The drop was expected. The slow bleed next will drain retail and SME liquidity for us."
Satsuki sat in the swivel chair and opened the top English file — equity maps, offshore trust structures.
"Offshore SPV firewall is in final stage. Dr. Weber's optics lab in Europe needs the next funding tranche to sever Nikon and Canon's upstream supply."
She checked her Jaeger-LeCoultre.
"Ten minutes. Encrypted call with New York. Lock the equity plan for Shin-Etsu Chemical's peripheral suppliers."
She picked up the Montblanc, eyes back on the dense data.
"Let the bullets fly for a while."
Outside, the first snow of 1990 began to fall, quiet.
#Translator Note
Guys, if it's down just buy the dip haha