October 3rd. 7:11 AM.
Saionji residence, Japanese-style room.
NHK's morning news cut back to Tokyo from Berlin. To celebrate the reunification of Germany, the area in front of the Brandenburg Gate had been packed with cheering crowds — Germans waving the black-red-gold tricolor flag, young people climbing the wall, and couples embracing in front of the cameras.
Flags, fireworks, beer bottles — everything was swaying overhead. A young man in a denim jacket sat on his companion's shoulders, waving a black-red-gold federal flag, his mouth wide open, shouting something. But his voice was crushed into a blur of noise by the cheers and church bells.
Shuichi held his miso soup bowl, his gaze fixed on the television screen.
"The Berlin Wall fell less than a year ago, and they've actually reunified," he remarked with a sigh, his tone filled with nostalgia.
"When East and West Germany were split, who would have thought this day would come?"
Forty-five years. From the Potsdam Conference to today, the Germany torn in two by the Iron Curtain was finally stitched back together on October 3, 1990.
Satsuki sat opposite him. A long plate with grilled salmon was placed before her, accompanied by tamagoyaki cut into four pieces, a small dish of pickles, and a bowl of fluffy white rice.
Her chopsticks picked up a piece of tamagoyaki, which she popped into her mouth and chewed twice.
From the moment she sat down, her eyes had been locked on the scrolling financial data bar at the bottom right of the screen. The NHK financial channel ticker — Nikkei 225 index, opening, down 302 points.
Satsuki swallowed the tamagoyaki. She tapped her chopsticks lightly against the edge of the bowl to shake off the egg crumbs.
38,950.20.
This was the closing price of the Nikkei 225 index on the first trading day of this year. This number, which she had pushed up with her own hands, was the peak of the bubble, the highest building block in the entire Japanese postwar economic miracle.
Now, nine months had passed.
It had fallen from 38,950 to the 22,000 range.
A drop of forty-three percent.
Seventeen trillion yen in market value had evaporated over the past two hundred and seventy-four days.
And on the timeline in her memory —
This was just the beginning.
The scene cut.
The Brandenburg Gate disappeared. The scene shifted to the press conference venue at the Bank of Japan headquarters.
Behind the long table of the press conference, a man sat before the microphone.
Sixty-six-year-old Yasushi Mieno had hair that was already graying, combed neatly back. He wore a dark gray suit with a dark red striped tie. His facial expression seemed to hover between "serious" and "expressionless."
"Heisei's Oni-Heizō."
That was the nickname the media had given him. It was taken from the Edo-period official Hasegawa Heizō, the chief of the Arson Robbery Perpetrators Control Office who maintained order with an iron fist.
It meant — this man was merciless.
As the saying goes, "there are no misnamed nicknames," and Yasushi Mieno had proven this with his actions.
"The Bank of Japan will continue to adhere to a policy of moderate monetary tightening. Maintaining price stability is the primary duty of the central bank..."
Satsuki picked up a piece of pickle and put it in her mouth. The sour and salty taste of the eggplant spread across her tongue. As she chewed, she mentally broke down Yasushi Mieno's tightening policy into a complete transmission chain.
The official interest rate rose from 2.5% to 6.0%.
The first time was in May 1989. The second was in October of the same year. These two were the work of the previous governor, Satoshi Sumita.
December 25, 1989 — 4.25%. Christmas. The third hike.
March 1990 — 5.25%. Spring Equinox. The fourth hike.
August 1990 — 6.0%. The fifth hike.
These last three hikes were all Yasushi Mieno's doing. One hike every four months. This man, through his own power, was about to stab Japan to death.
Layer that with the total real estate financing restrictions introduced by the Ministry of Finance in March of this year — the gates for new loans to the real estate industry had been welded shut by an administrative order.
A double noose.
One tightened around the neck, the other around the waist.
Satsuki broke down the ends of this noose into three layers in her mind.
The first layer — the banking side. New loans were frozen. Existing loans were not renewed upon maturity. Lead banks would re-evaluate the assets of client companies one by one, generally lowering their credit ratings by two to three levels.
Meanwhile, the banks' own scale of non-performing loans was expanding on a quarterly basis.
The second layer — the corporate side. Cash flow rupture. Especially for asset-heavy companies.
Their balance sheets were burdened with large amounts of land and equipment purchased at high prices during the bubble period, while interest expenses on the liability side were rapidly expanding with the rise of the official discount rate.
With every rate hike, a batch of companies saw their financial leverage slide from "bearable" to "unbearable." The order of collapse could also be predicted — first, the real estate developers with the highest reliance on financing, then the construction companies and building material manufacturers that supplied them, and finally, it would spread to the entire manufacturing supply chain.
The third layer — and the most important one for Saionji — the asset side.
After a company collapses, what is exposed in the wreckage?
Equipment. Patents. Technical teams. Customer relationships. Supply chain nodes.
When a company is alive, these things are embedded in a complete business ecosystem, and no amount of money can buy them.
But once the company collapses, these parts become like gears scattered from a broken clock, becoming cheap. Yet their value hasn't actually changed; they are just waiting to be picked up.
Yasushi Mieno's noose was also Saionji's fishing net.
Satsuki popped the last piece of grilled salmon into her mouth. The fat of the fish blossomed between her teeth, enveloped by the sweetness of the white rice, and she swallowed.
She put down her chopsticks.
"Thank you for the meal."
On TV, Yasushi Mieno was answering a reporter's question. His lips were moving, but Satsuki no longer needed to hear what he had to say.
She knew better than this man what would happen next.
---
9:40 AM.
Endō had arrived.
He was wearing a dark gray three-piece suit today, his gold-rimmed glasses polished spotlessly clean. A briefcase in his left hand, a kraft paper folder in his right.
Satsuki sat behind the desk. Shuichi was in a leather chair to the side, with today's Nikkei newspaper spread across his lap.
"Eldest Miss. Master."
Endō sat on the single chair opposite the desk. He stood his briefcase by his feet and placed the kraft paper folder on his lap.
"The first item." He opened the folder and pulled out the first report. "Over the past two weeks, the number of small and medium-sized enterprises in the Kanto region that have 'gone bankrupt' or 'applied for civil rehabilitation' has reached fourteen."
Endō passed the list across the desk. Satsuki took it, holding a pencil between her index and middle fingers.
Fourteen companies. Fourteen names. Listed in a column. Each name was followed by three sets of data — industry, total liabilities, and lead bank.
"Report them one by one." Satsuki's voice was flat. "Evaluate each company based on three criteria: technical barriers, supply chain compatibility, and debt cleanliness. Just report orally; no need to flip through the manuscript."
Endō closed the folder and placed it on the chair next to his knee. His gaze met Satsuki's.
"Yes."
"First, Takada Real Estate Co., Ltd. Located in Ikebukuro, it belongs to pure residential development. Technical barrier is zero. Supply chain compatibility is zero.
Liabilities of 4.2 billion yen, of which 2.7 billion is a guaranteed loan from Sanwa Bank, and the remaining 1.5 billion is private placement bonds issued to Sumitomo Trust. The debt structure is relatively complex, with cross-guarantees —"
"Don't acquire. Next."
Endō did not pause. "Second. Shinagawa. Commercial real estate holding type. Technical barrier is zero —"
"Don't acquire."
"Third. Real estate development. Chiyoda Ward. Office building development —"
"Don't acquire."
For the three pure real estate companies, Satsuki didn't even let Endō finish speaking before she drew three horizontal lines through the list with her pencil.
Shuichi listened silently from the leather chair nearby. He held his teacup but didn't drink.
Endō continued.
Fourth, food processing. Low technical barrier. Don't acquire.
Fifth, building materials wholesale. Compatibility is acceptable, but the debt involves secondary mortgages linked to yakuza. Satsuki's pencil tapped on the word "yakuza." Don't touch.
Sixth, printing factory. Old equipment. Don't acquire.
Seventh.
Endō's speaking speed slowed.
"Yodoba Precision Industry Co., Ltd. Headquarters in Chuo Ward, Kobe. Specializes in the manufacture of precision valves and pipe fittings. Established forty-two years ago."
He pulled a supplementary document from the side pocket of his briefcase and turned to the second page.
"Technical barrier is extremely high. This company ranks in the top five among domestic precision valve manufacturers in Japan. Its core competitiveness lies mainly in the field of corrosion-resistant alloy valves, and it holds three valid invention patents.
Two of them involve precision casting processes for nickel-based alloys, and the other is plasma spraying technology for valve seat sealing surfaces. These three patents are currently pledged, and the pledgee is Mitsui Trust Bank."
Satsuki's pencil tip hovered above the paper. It did not fall.
"Supply chain compatibility." Endō turned to the third page. "The company's product line covers industrial valves from DN15 to DN600 caliber, suitable for highly corrosive pipeline environments such as petrochemicals, fine chemicals, and pharmaceuticals."
He raised his head, his gaze meeting Satsuki's.
"It complements the fine chemical production line in the B-07 park planning, compatibility —"
"I understand." Satsuki's pencil fell. She drew a circle next to the words "Yodoba Precision." The circle was drawn heavily, leaving a deep indentation on the paper.
"Acquire."
Endō nodded. "Regarding debt cleanliness —"
"Speak."
"Founder Yoichiro Yodoba began venturing into commercial real estate development in Kobe Port Island in 1986. Using the land and factory buildings of the precision industry headquarters as collateral, he borrowed 8.7 billion yen from Mitsui Trust Bank for the real estate project.
The real estate project was completely halted in June of this year. Mitsui Trust has submitted an application for execution of the security interest to the Kobe District Court, and it is expected to enter the auction process in mid-November."
Endō closed the document.
"Currently, Yodoba Precision has 120 employees on the books. Among them are 87 production line technicians, 14 from the R&D department, and 19 in administration. As of the first of this month, everyone's salaries have been delayed by a month and a half. But —"
He emphasized his tone.
"The factory is still running, and orders are lined up until next February. Currently, the technician team is intact, and there have been no resignations."
Satsuki's pencil added two more words next to the circle: Acquire all.
"Buy out the debt before the auction." Her voice was very light. "You go directly to negotiate with Mitsui Trust. The three pledged patents are the core; you cannot let them fall into public auction."
"Understood."
"And those 120 people, don't lay off a single one. Remember to pay the back wages in full."
Endō wrote this down in his notebook.
Shuichi nodded slightly in his leather chair. It was a very small movement. But Endō caught it in his peripheral vision.
From the eighth to the eleventh company, Satsuki listened quickly. She marked two with an "×" and two with a horizontal line.
The twelfth company.
"Mitai Seiko Co., Ltd. Saitama Prefecture, Omiya City. Electronic component packaging."
Satsuki's pencil stopped.
"Tell me in detail."
Endō flipped out another supplementary document.
"Founder Yukio Mitai started the business in 1972. Specializes in lead frame packaging and testing for IC chips.
At its peak, annual revenue was 4.6 billion yen, with 230 employees. Since 1988, it has ventured into apartment development projects in Urawa City, with loans of 3.1 billion. The apartment project was halted in April of this year. On September 22, it applied for civil rehabilitation to the Urawa District Court."
"What about technical barriers?"
"The packaging technology itself has a medium barrier. But —" Endō's speaking speed slowed by half a beat. "The factory has a core team of packaging technicians, twenty people.
The average length of service is thirteen years. Six of them hold advanced packaging technician qualifications certified by the Japan Semiconductor Manufacturing Equipment Association."
He closed the document and looked at Satsuki.
"These twenty people are currently still on standby at the factory. Salaries have been delayed for two months. But the people have not dispersed."
Satsuki's pencil tip pressed against the paper. It did not move.
Two months without salary. And they hadn't left.
In the torrent of the bubble bursting, in a small factory on the verge of bankruptcy, twenty technicians chose to stay and wait. Wait for what?
Wait for something they might not even be able to explain themselves.
Perhaps it was an obsession with their craft, or perhaps they just didn't know where else to go after leaving.
But regardless of the reason — the people were still there.
People are more important than equipment; this was one of Satsuki's primary philosophies.
Punch presses can be bought again, injection molding machines can be reinstalled. But skilled packaging technicians with an average of thirteen years of service grow on the assembly line.
The muscle memory of every pair of hands, the force control of every wire bond, the micro-adjustment of pupils when aligning every chip — these things cannot be written into an instruction manual.
Satsuki drew a second circle on the list.
"Acquire. Retain the entire technician team. Pay the salaries in full."
She paused.
"Also, have SIS check the family situation of these twenty people. Those who have children in school, those who have elderly to care for — take care of their worries first. When people's hearts are stable, the work in their hands will be stable."
Endō nodded and turned the page of his notebook.
Shuichi held his teacup, still not drinking. At some point, the heat from the rim of the cup had already vanished.
Two companies remaining. Thirteenth and fourteenth.
Satsuki wrote two words next to these two names: "Watch again."
"The lead banks for these two companies are Taiyo Kobe and Kyowa Saitama, respectively." She placed the pencil on the desk and leaned back in her chair.
"The capital adequacy ratios of these two banks themselves are near the warning line. Before the end of the year, Yasushi Mieno —"
She paused.
"Will tighten again."
Shuichi's hand holding the teacup stopped in mid-air.
"Another rate hike?" His brows knit together. "It's already at six percent, and he's going to raise it again?"
"Not necessarily a rate hike." Satsuki's gaze fell on the list on the desk.
"It could also be an increase in window guidance, or a tightening of the monetary base through open market operations. The form doesn't matter.
The result is the same — Taiyo Kobe and Kyowa Saitama won't be able to hold on, and they will definitely initiate debt recovery procedures against these two companies before the end of the year."
She used her pencil to draw a line under the words "Watch again."
"At that time, sliding from 'rehabilitation' to 'bankruptcy,' the price will drop by at least another forty percent. When the time comes, take action, and the cost will be even lower."
Endō recorded this judgment word for word into his notebook.
Shuichi put the teacup back on the armrest. He didn't bother to refill the cold tea.
He glanced at his daughter.
Satsuki's tone was flat, her expression calm. When she said "will tighten again," it was as if she were saying "it will rain tomorrow."
Where on earth did his daughter get her information? He still couldn't figure it out.
Could it be inferred from existing information? He couldn't understand that even more.
Shuichi shifted his gaze from his daughter and landed on the maple tree in the garden outside the window.
The leaves were mostly red, like a burning fire.