naruto-story Chapter 145 Group Irrationality
Chapter 145 Group Irrationality
(Today's chapter is a long one of 5,000 words!)
December 28, 1988.
Three months before the consumption tax bill takes effect that spring, the winter chill has already made Tokyoites feel a sense of impending doom.
A FamilyMart convenience store in Setagaya Ward.
The automatic door's beeping had been going on non-stop since morning; the "ding-dong, ding-dong" sounds had formed a straight line, sounding rather jarring in the noisy store.
Instead of the usual relaxing background music, the store was filled with the constant buzzing of the cash register printing receipts and the sound of customers' shoes rubbing against the floor.
The room felt stuffy, filled with the aroma of boiling radishes from oden, the grease from fried chicken, and the heat emanating from the people, making the space, which was less than 100 square meters, feel particularly suffocating.
The aisles in front of the shelves were extremely crowded.
Excuse me! Please let me through!
Shop manager Tanaka, drenched in sweat, pushed a cart full of goods, trying to make his way through the crowd. The back of his uniform was soaked with sweat, and his glasses were fogged up, requiring him to wipe them with his fingers from time to time.
The trolley was piled high with corrugated cardboard boxes bearing the "S-Food" logo.
"Manager! We're out of curry here!"
"Manager! Do you have any toilet paper left?"
"Hey! Even though that was on sale near its expiration date, I got it first!"
Shouts rose and fell.
Tanaka had just parked his trolley in front of the third row of shelves, and before he could even unpack the boxes, two hands had already reached out.
A housewife wearing a dark brown wool coat clutched the week's supermarket flyers tightly in her hand, her nails digging deep into the paper.
"Is this S-Food's 'Family Disaster Preparedness Kit'?"
She pointed to the red label printed on the box: "[Last chance to stock up before the price increase! Includes 30 packets of Hokkaido beef curry]".
"Yes, the goods just arrived, and haven't been put on the shelves yet..."
Give me two boxes.
The housewife interrupted him, her voice urgent.
"Huh? Two boxes?" Tanaka was taken aback. "Madam, this box weighs ten kilograms, and although it has a shelf life of one year, it's not enough for the whole family..."
"Take it just because I told you to!"
The housewife waved her hand impatiently, her eyes gleaming with a kind of fervent light that only appears when she's snapping up discounted items at a shopping mall.
"The news on TV said that taxes will be collected starting next April. Three thousand yen now is still three thousand yen, but next year it will only be worth two thousand nine! And this curry has meat in it; I also read in the newspaper that beef prices will go up next year!"
As she spoke, she immediately took action, without even needing Tanaka's help, and with a single effort, lifted the heavy cardboard box into the shopping cart.
The shopping cart creaked under its own weight.
What a robust middle-aged woman...
Tanaka watched her graceful figure from behind, opened his mouth, but ultimately swallowed his words.
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That's a whole sixty packets of curry. Even if this family ate curry every single meal, it would take until next summer. In order to save those few hundred yen in taxes, they've already overspent for six months' worth of food expenses.
Is this really a worthwhile deal?
But at this moment in the convenience store, no one is thinking about this.
Thanks to the Saionji family's terrifying influence, within a few days, the citizens of Tokyo had been brainwashed by the news of the consumption tax, and the fear of the tax increase was amplified by the ubiquitous psychological suggestion.
When the whole society begins to panic, the already limited space for independent thinking in people's minds is squeezed out.
Red promotional labels covered every shelf, with words like "3%", "Price Increase Warning", and "Final Deadline" printed on them. These were all psychological cues that constantly stimulated people's visual nerves.
In front of the instant noodle shelf, an office worker in a suit is sweeping cup noodles into a basket in a row.
In the daily necessities section, an elderly woman was stuffing dozens of alkaline batteries and light bulbs into her grandson's schoolbag, muttering, "Buy as many as you can before the price goes up, they won't spoil anyway."
People have come to equate "buying something that won't spoil" with "making a profit," and everyone has a reason to justify their decision—after all, it won't spoil.
A long line formed in front of the cashier.
Everyone's baskets were crammed full, and the cashier's fingers flew across the keyboard, making a clicking sound.
"The total is 12,800 yen."
"Swipe your card."
The housewife handed over a credit card with a satisfied look on her face, as if she had gotten a good deal.
Tanaka retreated to the warehouse and leaned against the door to catch his breath.
In a corner of the warehouse, a black data terminal connected to S-Food headquarters was flashing.
Lines of green characters were flashing on the screen:
[Setagaya Store No. 03: Curry stock is critically low.] [Order: Fleet S-05 has departed and is expected to restock in 20 minutes.] [Note: Increase the distribution of "disaster preparedness kits."]
[Shibuya store's inventory is running low...] [Order confirmed...]
Tanaka looked at the screen.
He suddenly realized that these customers who were frantically buying things were like data points on this machine.
They thought they were saving money, that they were fighting inflation.
But in the eyes of that unseen trader, they were simply following a pre-written program, obediently emptying their own wallets.
……
December 29th.
Saitama Prefecture, beside National Route 16.
This is a vital logistics artery with a constant flow of traffic, and also the outpost of Saionji's retail empire.
Under a gray sky, a huge white cube-shaped building stands by the roadside, its red square logo—UNIQLO—standing out prominently in the winter wind.
The parking lot was already full, and temporarily parked vehicles even occupied one lane, causing localized traffic congestion on the national highway. Police officers wearing fluorescent vests blew whistles and waved red batons, attempting to manage the torrent of vehicles, but with little success.
In the store.
The noisy voices and the clattering of clothes hangers drowned out the background music.
The white shelves stretched all the way to the ceiling, and the fluorescent lights were so bright they were dizzying.
Red, yellow, blue, green...
Tens of thousands of colorful T-shirts and sweatshirts were folded into neat squares, filling every cell and forming colorful walls.
"1900 yen! 3 pieces!"
The radio was playing extremely simple slogans on a loop.
In the aisle, customers pushed their carts, their movements rough and direct.
"Over here! Over here we also have size L black thermal underwear!"
A father tossed a whole dozen black shopping bags into his cart. He was wearing a slightly worn jacket with paint stains on the cuffs.
He didn't even need to try it on or ask about the fabric composition.
For him, the department stores in Ginza were too far away, and the clothes there were too expensive. But here, in this bright, clean, yet extremely cheap white box, he found a kind of freedom that didn't require looking at price tags.
"Honey, how's this one?"
His wife, standing beside him, held up a pink fleece jacket.
"purchase."
The man didn't even glance at it, and simply nodded.
"Buy them for the kids and for my parents. They'll all be wearing them next year anyway. Let's buy them all before the tax increase."
"But my closet is already full..."
"Then let's throw the old one away!"
The man seemed somewhat agitated, his anxiety about the uncertainty of the future transforming into a desire to buy.
His family was just an ordinary working class. The soaring prices of this era were already enough to give him a headache, and now with this so-called "consumption tax," the already uncertain future has become even bleaker.
"Listen, if we don't spend this money now, it will depreciate by 3% next year. This is saving us money."
"Too……"
The wife muttered something and put the clothes in the basket.
At the checkout counter, more than a dozen machines were operating simultaneously.
"Drip, drip, drip."
The sounds of the scanners blended together, like some kind of rapid electronic music.
Tadashi Yanai stood in his second-floor office, looking down at the moving colors below through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
He held a cup of coffee that had gone cold in his hand, and his glasses reflected the surging crowd below.
The hundreds of thousands of items piling up in the warehouse are disappearing at a visible rate. Those slow-moving goods that once kept him up at night, worrying that they would rot in his hands (because he found that he couldn't sell them as fast as the Shanghai factory could produce, and Satsuki would only order him to sell more instead of choosing to slow down the factory's production), have now become "hard currency" that people are scrambling to buy.
He picked up the walkie-talkie and pressed the call button.
"Warehouse department, bring out all the goods from section D."
"Forget about aesthetics, just pile the boxes up in the aisle."
"Open the boxes and let them take what they need."
Putting down the walkie-talkie, Tadashi Yanai looked down at the customers downstairs who were even starting to snatch clothes directly from the cardboard boxes, and his lips twitched slightly.
……
December 30th, evening.
Shinjuku, Yasukuni Street.
The neon lights had just come on, turning the damp ground into a hazy, colorful spectacle.
At the entrance of a newly opened live house, several young people carrying musical instruments were walking out of the basement.
The girl in the middle stopped and lifted the guitar bag on her back.
Masami Okura took a deep breath, the cold air mixed with the aroma of street barbecue filling her lungs. She was wearing a black leather jacket over a simple white Uniqlo crew neck T-shirt, paired with slim-fit jeans and Doc Martens boots.
Her hair was cut short and dyed flaxen, making her look capable and energetic. She wore no heavy makeup, only a light layer of lip balm, and her complexion looked rosy and healthy.
"Today's rehearsal went very smoothly!"
The bassist next to her laughed and said, "Yami, your high notes are getting more and more stable. You'll definitely be fine for next week's performance."
"Um."
Yamei smiled, took a crumpled sheet of music from her pocket, carefully folded it, and put it into the inside pocket of her jacket.
"This is all thanks to the fact that I haven't been going to the hospital so often lately, so I've had time to practice."
Her father's condition has stabilized, and he was discharged from the hospital last week. He is now undergoing rehabilitation at a nursing home. The band's several offline performances have been well-received, and the money earned is enough to cover his rehabilitation expenses and rent, and she can even save some money.
That suffocating feeling of being strangled by life has finally disappeared.
"Huh? That's...?"
Beth pointed to the other side of the road.
There was a Uniqlo store on the street with a long line outside and a poster on the glass window that said "Year-end Sale".
"There are so many people. I heard they're having some kind of 'tax-free mega sale'."
Yamei looked in the direction he was pointing.
Looking at the crowds queuing in the cold wind to save a few hundred yen, she didn't feel contempt or heartache as she used to.
She just watched calmly.
"Perfect."
Yamei patted the guitar bag.
"My socks are torn, I'll go buy a few more pairs. Those thick cotton socks are really comfortable, they keep me warm on stage in winter."
"I'm going too! I heard their fleece jackets are really warm, it would be great to buy one as a performance outfit."
The two crossed the road and blended into the queue.
Yamei stood in the queue, listening to the housewives around her discussing next year's prices and the office workers complaining about their shrinking bonuses.
She took her wallet out of her pocket, inside which were neatly folded several thin but personal banknotes.
It was her turn.
She walked into the store, skillfully took two packs of black cotton socks from the shelf, and then picked out a dark gray hooded sweatshirt.
Check out.
"The total is 2900 yen."
Yamei handed over three thousand-yuan bills, took the change and the paper bag with the red logo.
As I stepped out of the store, a gentle evening breeze blew by.
She tightened her leather jacket, carried the cheap paper bag in her hand, and walked briskly towards the subway station.
Her reflection was shown in the shop window glass by the roadside.
The girl who once cried because she couldn't afford a designer trench coat is gone.
Now, she is wearing the most ordinary clothes, carrying a guitar, and with the performance fee she just earned in her pocket.
It feels very reassuring.
……
It's late at night, 11 p.m.
Ginza, 7-chome.
The heavy double-layered vacuum glass door slowly closed, completely cutting off the deafening noise from the central hall.
Inside the S-Collection flagship store, the air seemed to freeze in the tranquility of a constant 24 degrees Celsius. A subtle, cool fragrance, a blend of bergamot and premium leather, wafted gently in the soft beams of spotlight.
In front of the floor-to-ceiling window, a woman wearing a chestnut mink coat is nestled in a deep purple velvet sofa.
She held a tulip-shaped crystal glass in her hand, the champagne bubbles inside rising and bursting extremely slowly.
A seasoned sales associate, dressed in a tuxedo and wearing pristine white cotton gloves, carefully presented a black patent leather box.
The lid was opened.
A Himalayan crocodile skin handbag lay quietly on a silk lining. The gradient of gray and white colors flowed under the light, like the snow that never melts on the summit of Kilimanjaro.
"Madam, this is a new arrival from the Paris workshop. There are only three in all of Asia."
The sales assistant spoke in a low, measured voice, exuding a reassuring professionalism. He didn't directly try to sell; instead, he extended his gloved fingers and gently traced the texture of the leather surface.
"Next year's import quotas will be reduced, coupled with the tax reform in April and exchange rate fluctuations... The headquarters' intention is that the price of these rare leather goods may need to be increased by 15%."
The lady did not look down at the handbag.
She turned her head and looked out the window.
Across the street, the giant clock on the clock tower of Wako Department Store pointed to 11:15. Red and white "First Sale" banners were already hanging in the shop windows below. Although there were still a full twenty-five hours until that crazy year of 1989, the traffic on the street was already converging into a river of light, rushing impatiently forward.
"wrap up."
She looked away, took a sip of champagne, and spoke as casually as if she were buying a bouquet of flowers.
"Also, wrap up the cashmere coat on the mannequin in the shop window, and the silk scarf in the same color."
"Okay, we'll process it for you right away."
The sales assistant gave a slight bow and deftly put the handbag back into the box.
The lady took a black American Express Centurion card from her handbag and handed it over.
"drop."
The card reader spit out a long receipt.
She signed her name in the signature section, the pen tip gliding across the thermal paper with a soft "scratching" sound. The handwriting was messy, yet it exuded a nonchalant ease.
For her, it was simply a matter of exchanging the soon-to-depreciate numbers in her bank account for something more durable, more beautiful, and more resistant to the erosion of time.
The sales assistant handed back the card and the beautifully packaged paper bag with both hands.
May S-Collection accompany you through a warm winter.
The lady took the paper bag and stood up.
She walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked at her reflection in the glass—her face was exquisitely made up, but there was an undeniable weariness in the corners of her eyes.
Outside the window, the red lights of a police car flashed in the rainy night, piercing the night sky of Ginza.
She turned and walked towards the door.
The high heels stomped silently on the thick wool carpet.
……
December 30th, midnight.
Bunkyo District, Saionji Headquarters.
The study light was still on.
Executive Director Endo stood in front of his desk and gently placed the last summary report on the table.
"Young Miss, Head of the Family. Deadline is 10 PM tonight."
Endo's voice was trembling with suppressed excitement.
"Uniqlo's 30 stores in the Kanto region have achieved a 75% inventory clearance rate. Cash inflow...2.8 billion yen."
"S-Food's convenience store channels achieved a 90% sell-out rate for disaster preparedness kits. Cash inflow...4.2 billion yen."
Shuichi sat in a large leather chair, twirling a fountain pen in his hand.
He stared at the number, remaining silent for a long time.
"Seven billion."
In just a few days, money flowed from the pockets of ordinary people trying to save a few hundred yen in taxes, forming a golden river.
"The power of panic is truly astonishing," Shuichi murmured in amazement.
Satsuki stood by the window, her back to the room.
She looked out the window at the night sky. The snow had stopped, and moonlight shone on the snow in the courtyard, reflecting a cool, clear glow.
"That's right, Father."
Satsuki turned around, walked to the table, and placed her hand on the thick stack of reports.
Feel the warmth of the paper with your fingertips.
"Group panic is irrational."
She picked up the report, casually flipped through a couple of pages, and glanced at the densely packed transaction data.
"The cheap cotton socks bought by working girls in roadside shops, the haute couture handbags taken away by Ginza ladies with their credit cards, and the curry brought home by housewives."
"These things can give them a sense of security when facing the unknown next year."
"We simply put this sense of security on the shelf."
The sound of a car passing by could be heard in the distance, its wheels crushing the thin ice on the road.
Satsuki closed the folder with a soft "snap".
"Deposit the money safely."
"This money was our gift to welcome 1989."
She walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked at the orange lights of the Tokyo Tower in the distance.
The clock on the wall pointed to twelve o'clock.
The second hand skips to the last tick.
December 31st has arrived.
Outside the window, the last snowflake landed on the glass, instantly melting into a watermark that slowly slid down.
A tear streaked across Tokyo's dazzling nightscape.