October 2nd. 1:47 PM.
Saionji Residence.
On the cypress floor at the entrance sat an extra pair of indoor slippers that shouldn't have been there. They were dark gray, with a very faint family crest embroidered at the opening.
Satsuki caught sight of them while changing her shoes. As she bent down to undo the hidden clasp on the side of her ballet flats, her movements paused for half a second.
Shuichi should have been at S.A. Group headquarters today. There was a scheduled meeting with Sumitomo Trust at 10:00 AM and an internal budget review at 2:00 PM. Both were items he personally oversaw.
Really... I didn't even tell Father my itinerary...
Satsuki shook her head helplessly.
She put her shoes into the cabinet and slipped into a pair of soft-soled white indoor shoes. Fujita Tsuyoshi stood three steps behind her, about to report something, when she raised her palm and pressed it down gently.
"No need to say it."
She knew why he had come back.
The corridor was long. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the shoji paper doors on the south side, laying a pale golden sheen across the cedar floorboards.
A lingering trace of sandalwood incense hung in the air—very faint. It had likely been lit an hour ago and had already burned out.
The study door was half-open.
Satsuki stood at the entrance and peeked through the gap.
Shuichi sat in the dark brown leather chair by the window. A copy of the Nikkei Shimbun lay spread across his lap, open to the third page. His glasses had slid half an inch down his nose, but he hadn't pushed them up.
Outside the window, the shadow of a maple tree fell onto the shoji paper and swayed gently with the wind. The edge of the shadow brushed past Shuichi's temples.
They had gone white.
There were a few more strands than there had been half a month ago.
Satsuki stood at the door for two seconds.
"Father, I'm home."
Shuichi looked up. The newspaper crinkled slightly as it shifted on his knees. He folded it along its original creases, set it on the armrest, took off his glasses with his right hand, and slipped them into his breast pocket.
His movements were unhurried. But he stood up a little faster than usual.
"Welcome back." Shuichi's voice was steady, and a gentle smile appeared in his eyes. "Did you sleep on the plane?"
"I slept a little." Satsuki walked into the study and smiled. "What about you, Father? Aren't you supposed to be at the budget review at 2:00 PM?"
Shuichi's gaze flickered. He'd been caught.
"The staff can handle it." He coughed twice, barely hiding the guilt in his tone. "That kind of routine review—there are people better at it than I am."
Satsuki looked at her father's feigned nonchalance and couldn't help but smile.
Forget it. I won't expose him.
Fujita bowed behind her, placed the black briefcase of documents on the small cabinet by the door, then silently withdrew and gently closed the door.
Satsuki sat down in the single sofa opposite Shuichi. The leather had been warmed by the sun, and the moment she sank into it, a sense of relief washed over her as if she were being enveloped.
She leaned back slightly, and her shoulders finally relaxed after days of constant tension.
After several days of high-intensity negotiations and the fatigue of long-distance travel, sitting in her own study now with her father's familiar face across from her, her entire state of alertness dropped subconsciously.
"Father, I want tea~"
Satsuki wriggled into the sofa, as if she had decided she wasn't moving.
"All right, all right."
Shuichi responded with a smile. He turned to the tea cabinet and opened the lower sliding door.
"Drink a cup of tea to warm up first. Was the air conditioning on the plane too strong again? Your hands are always ice-cold when you get off."
Satsuki didn't deny it. She watched Shuichi's back as he took the teapot and cups from the cabinet.
This time it was genmaicha.
When he handed her the cup, there was a faint crackle pattern on the ceramic. Shuichi's fingers lingered on the rim for a beat longer than necessary.
His gaze settled on Satsuki's face.
The Shanghai trip hadn't made his daughter look any worse.
But… had she gained a little weight?
Satsuki took the teacup and met Shuichi's gaze as he studied her.
"Hmm? What's wrong, Father?" she asked, taking a sip.
"…No, nothing."
Shuichi withdrew his gaze. His daughter was still growing. Eating a bit more was fine.
"It went smoothly, right?" Shuichi sat back down, his tone casual.
Satsuki took another sip. The aftertaste of toasted rice lingered at the root of her tongue.
"We secured the B-07 plot. It closed at 32,000 per mu in the end."
She set the teacup on the small table by her knees.
"The 'right of first negotiation' was also written into the contract appendix, and the self-construction rights for the wharf were approved."
After hearing this, Shuichi didn't immediately comment on the price or the terms. His gaze paused on Satsuki's face for a moment, then moved away.
"Did you get used to the food over there?"
The corners of Satsuki's mouth lifted.
"The crab roe xiaolongbao were delicious. I packed two baskets for you. I had Fujita put them in the fridge."
Shuichi's brow relaxed. A smile spread from the fine lines at the corners of his eyes.
"Good. I'll heat them up tonight," he said with a nod. "I'll try them too."
He leaned back against the chair and returned to the main topic.
"Satsuki. That place—Pudong…" He said the word "Pudong" slowly, as if chewing on an unfamiliar ingredient.
"Is anyone really going to invest there? I had my secretary pull some materials a few days ago. They haven't even paved proper asphalt roads. You still have to take a ferry to get there."
He picked up the Nikkei Shimbun from the armrest and flipped to a page in the international section. A line at the corner was marked in pencil.
"Here. The Reuters reporter wrote it. He said Pudong is still 'a stretch of farmland and shantytowns' right now."
Satsuki didn't take the newspaper. She held her teacup, lowered her eyes, and watched the tea swirl gently inside.
"Father, do you think China will just leave Pudong as farmland forever?"
Shuichi was stunned for a moment.
"That area—right across from the Bund. Looking from the west bank of the Huangpu River, all of Pudong is one huge blank canvas." Satsuki lifted her gaze from the teacup to meet Shuichi's.
"A country with a population of 1.1 billion is determined to build its own financial center. Once national will on that scale is set in motion—"
She paused.
"Come back and look again in three years."
Shuichi set the newspaper back on the armrest.
He stared into his daughter's eyes for three seconds. Satsuki's expression was calm. She held her teacup, her posture relaxed. But there was something in the depths of her pupils—Shuichi couldn't name it. It felt like looking down from a great height.
He didn't press her further.
From the moment she had said "dam flood discharge" at the funeral when she was twelve, Shuichi had learned one thing: when his daughter said "in three years" in that tone, it meant three years.
"All right." Shuichi nodded and smiled with relief. "I'll go look in three years."
"I'll take you then," Satsuki's tone lightened. "We can have crab roe xiaolongbao again. There's also something called shengjian over there. The bottom is fried golden and crispy. I think you'd like it too…"
Shuichi was amused by her sudden turn toward food recommendations.
"Fine, fine, fine. If you say we're going, we're going." He waved his hand. "But before that—"
He gestured with his chin toward the desk.
"The regular reports from every division came in while you were away. I've sorted them by arrival time."
Satsuki's gaze followed his gesture.
On the desk, seven sealed document bags were lined up from left to right in order of arrival. Kraft paper, thick white envelopes with BVI registration watermarks—the materials varied, and so did the thicknesses.
"I didn't open them," Shuichi added, a hint of pride in his tone. "I didn't touch a single one."
Satsuki turned back to look at him.
"Thank you for your hard work, Father. It must have been difficult to hold back for several days, right?"
"Well, it was indeed quite hard to resist," Shuichi admitted with a smile. "Especially the one from Frank. Judging by the postmark, it came from New York. I almost opened it the moment I got my hands on it."
"Then I'll take a look right away, before your curiosity burns a hole through the envelope."
Satsuki set her teacup on the small table and stretched—her shoulder blades pulled back, then quickly relaxed. She stood and walked to the desk.
All right. Time to get to work.
The October afternoon sun shone through the paper window, casting a blurred rectangle of light across the desk. The shadows of the seven envelopes overlapped on the cypress grain.
Satsuki pulled out a chair and sat down. With her right hand, she opened the drawer and took out a red copper letter opener.
Shuichi moved to the nearby leather chair with his teacup, found an angle where he could see the desktop, and sat down.
"Then I'll just listen in from the side?"
"Mm. There are some things I still need to discuss with you."