Reborn in Tokyo: From Heiress to Global Tycoon

Chapter 202 An Expensive Spectacle

October 26, 1989.

Nikkei Average: 30,120 points

Ginza at night is always dreamlike.

Fine autumn rain washed over the asphalt road in the center, and puddles reflected the colorful neon lights on the buildings on both sides. The light spots intertwined and twisted in the puddles, and as the tires of the occasional luxury car drove by, they shattered into countless dazzling patches of color.

The cold rain failed to extinguish the almost boiling heat on the street.

Several flushed-faced trading company employees stumbled out of the doorway, their silk ties hanging loosely around their necks. They laughed wildly, waving stacks of ten thousand yuan bills and carelessly slapping the hood of a taxi parked by the roadside. Their female companions, dressed in expensive trench coats, clung to them, their hands full of shopping bags from various department stores, their high heels splashing water in the puddles.

"Buy! Go all in as soon as the market opens tomorrow!"

The drunken roars pierced through the rain and echoed through the streets.

In this late autumn, propelled by enormous numbers, the wildly expanding balance in the account soothed all unease. Alcohol and greed clouded everyone's vision, and the wealth curve soared upwards, seemingly poised to burst through the sky.

Everyone was complacently squandering the night. They firmly believed that when the sun rose tomorrow, it would bring an even richer golden world than tonight.

In the depths of this night, where the cold rain couldn't penetrate, inside the upscale club "Lumiere," the rich malty aroma of aged whisky slowly fermented in the constant temperature air. The intoxicating fragrance of fine perfumes intertwined with the dim yellow glow of the wall lamps, completely dispelling the chill of early winter.

In a semi-open booth deep inside the lobby, the lighting was deliberately dimmed. A warm yellow wall lamp cast a glow on an imported Italian calfskin sofa. The leather surface sagged and creased with the weight of the person sitting down.

"President Yamada, this is a toast to you." A middle-aged man in a dark gray pinstripe suit raised an engraved crystal glass with both hands. The amber liquid in the glass swayed slightly as he leaned forward.

Sitting opposite him was Yamada, a slightly overweight, ruddy-faced building materials supplier. Yamada unbuttoned the top button of his shirt collar, his thick fingers holding a half-smoked cigar. He placed his large palm on the rim of his glass and lightly touched it to the other man's.

"Takahashi-kun, you're too kind. We're all trying to make a living in Tokyo Bay, so it's only natural to look out for each other." Yamada tilted his head back and downed the rest of his drink in one gulp. The pungent alcohol slid down his esophagus into his stomach, and a flush of excitement rose on his cheeks.

"President Yamada's been riding high lately." Takahashi put down his glass, picked up the silver ice tongs on the table, and diligently placed a perfectly round ice ball in Yamada's bowl. "Everyone in the industry is saying that you secured the exclusive supply rights for the special impermeable concrete for the deep-sea caisson project for Saionji Construction's 500-meter-tall tower in Odaiba. Even if you only get one-tenth of that order, it would be enough to keep the factory running at full capacity for three years, wouldn't it?"

Upon hearing the words "Saionji Construction," Yamada's back straightened subconsciously. He took a puff of his cigar, the bluish-gray smoke swirling and rising in the air between them, blurring the undisguised smugness in his eyes.

"Takahashi-kun, you have no idea how ambitious that project is." Yamada lowered his voice and leaned forward over the edge of the marble coffee table. He tapped the table twice heavily with his index finger, which was holding a cigar.

"A pneumatic caisson eighty meters deep in the ocean. Poured continuously for twenty-four hours a day. My four production lines are running around the clock, and Isuzu mixer trucks are lined up from Shibaura Wharf to the Odaiba construction site. Those special anti-seepage materials disappear into the seawater every day as if poured into a bottomless pit." Yamada swallowed hard, a layer of oily sweat beading on his forehead.

"When I was settling the bill yesterday, I secretly glanced at the receipts in the hands of their engineering department manager. Just from our supplier alone, the material settlement amounted to a whopping 900 million yen in a single week. 900 million! And that's just the cost of laying the foundation."

Takahashi gasped. His fingers tightened slightly as he held the glass, his fingertips pressed firmly against the cool crystal rim.

“It’s not just Odaiba.” Another tall, thin man, holding a dry martini, interjected from the side of the booth. He was the Kanto general agent for a heavy oil trading company in Hokkaido. “That ‘Gokurakukan’ in Niseko is an even bigger money-devouring monster.” The tall, thin man placed his glass on the coaster. “To maintain the temperature of the rainforest inside that glass enclosure, the heavy boiler in the basement has never stopped for a second. My fleet of tanker trucks is transporting high-grade heavy oil into the mountains every day. I did a quick calculation, and Gokurakukan’s daily energy consumption is enough to buy an entire ordinary commercial and residential building in Shinjuku.”

The atmosphere in the booth became somewhat eerie. The three people looked at each other in bewilderment. The only sound in the air was the extremely faint hissing of burning cigars.

"The Saionji family is indeed incredibly wealthy." Takahashi's gaze lingered on the ice bucket on the table. "However... even a printing press would jam if they were running such an unprecedented money-burning machine on both ends at the same time, right?"

"Who says otherwise?" Yamada flicked off a bit of cigarette ash. The grayish-white powder fell precisely into the crystal ashtray. "I heard that Saionji Construction's finance department has been urging major banks to increase their credit lines lately. Although they're currently paying out fairly quickly, the speed at which they spend money... to be honest, it's making me a little uneasy. That pit in Odaiba is too deep; if the cash flow breaks down one day, we suppliers will be the first to go down with it."

Separated by a carved wooden screen, a man quietly listened, savoring single malt whisky. He wore an inconspicuous navy blue suit, and the fingers of his left hand unconsciously traced circles along the edge of the sofa.

The man raised his glass, concealing the slight upturn of his lips. Huge infrastructure bills. Burning heavy oil. Bottomless caissons. These fragmented business complaints quickly pieced together a clear financial picture in his mind.

Chairman Tsutsumi, our opportunity may be coming soon.

……

The next morning.

The sky over Tokyo cleared, and sunlight pierced through the thin clouds, shining on the straight streets of Chiyoda Ward.

The newsstand owner untied bundles of the *Nikkei* and *Tokyo Keizai Weekly*. The distinctive smell of ink wafted in the cool morning breeze. Passing office workers tossed in hundred-yen coins, grabbed a newspaper, and hurried towards the subway station.

Inside the elevator car of a large trading company.

Several employees wearing trench coats were looking down and flipping through their copies of the Tokyo Economic Weekly.

Occupying four full color pages was an in-depth report titled "Polar Eden and Deep-Sea Giant Pit: Saionji Group's Infrastructure Fantasy".

The article is filled with astonishment at the scale of cost of these two extreme projects.

High-resolution aerial photographs occupy a large portion of the frame.

The first image showcases a massive glass dome radiating a deep blue and golden light amidst a vast blizzard in Hokkaido. Below it is an extremely detailed list of equipment: the area of ​​special double-layered vacuum-heated glass, the energy consumption of 30,000 industrial-grade halogen lamps, and the heavy oil combustion matrix required to maintain a constant temperature of 28 degrees Celsius.

The second image shows an aerial view of the No. 13 caisson site in Odaiba. There are no towering buildings in the picture, only a massive black pit eighty meters deep and numerous engineering vessels on the sea surface. A diagram illustrating the massive deep-sea pneumatic caisson operation occupies one-third of the page. Below the chart, the daily tonnage of special impermeable concrete dumped into the sea and the current market price of hundreds or thousands of tons of special steel are clearly listed.

"That's an incredibly generous gesture."

An employee looked at the photo of the giant black hole plunging straight into the seabed and couldn't help but gasp.

"This is practically dumping money into the sea. So much money has been burned just for the foundation; how much will it cost once the building is completed?"

A finance manager standing next to him adjusted his glasses. His gaze bypassed the flowery adjectives and locked onto the rows of estimated construction and maintenance costs listed at the end of the report.

"Miracles require money to build."

The section chief folded the newspaper and tucked it under his arm.

"Although the Saionji family has made a lot of cash from various businesses, this practice of simultaneously launching two century-long projects has reached an extremely dangerous critical point in terms of financial leverage. This huge cash flow black hole has definitely occupied the vast majority of their domestic working capital."

The elevator doors slid open, and the section chief stepped out of the car.

"At the slightest disturbance, this tower built of gold coins will shake."

……

The same weekly magazine sat on the marble dining table of the penthouse suite at the Akasaka Prince Hotel. Yoshiaki Tsutsumi, holding a cup of black coffee, casually glanced at the high-resolution photos.

Sunlight streamed through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating his profile. He extended his right hand, adorned with a gold ring, and picked up the weekly magazine.

His gaze swept over the purchase orders for impermeable concrete, accurate to single digits, and the bills for heavy oil consumption. A slight upward twitch appeared at the corners of Tsutsumi Yoshiaki's mouth.

"Reclaiming land from the sea to build towers, planting trees in the polar regions." He casually tossed the magazine back onto the table. "Young people are still young. They think that having tens of billions in cash means they can ignore objective laws. This kind of infrastructure black hole is enough to drag down the cash flow of any large conglomerate."

Secretary Shimada stood quietly to the side, bowing slightly.

"Chairman, according to our intelligence, Saionji Corporation's asset department has indeed been frequently sorting out their peripheral land assets recently. It seems they intend to sell them off."

Yoshiaki Tsutsumi stood up, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and looked down at Tokyo bathed in the morning light.

"Notify the finance department to take stock of all the group's currently available working capital. Also, have the credit department contact First Industrial Bank; we need a large bridge loan."

He stretched out his finger and tapped lightly on the glass window.

"That arrogant lion finally choked because of its gluttony."

"Get the money ready. They'll be coming to us soon to sell their most valuable meat."

……

Deep underground in Tokyo. The third basement level of the SA Investment Building.

Inside the enormous trading room, hundreds of server fans arranged in parallel emitted a continuous low-frequency hum.

Rows of monitors emitted a faint green glow. Dozens of actuaries and traders sat in anti-static swivel chairs, their fingers flying across mechanical keyboards. The screens displayed the real-time exchange rate of the yen against the dollar, the fluctuation curve of the Nikkei index, and various extremely complex financial derivative models.

In the deepest, most isolated compartment of the trading room, Endo was slumped in a swivel chair, his eyes glued to the encrypted terminal machine directly connected to the transoceanic fiber optic cable. His once-impressive dark suit remained impeccably pressed, but his tie had been roughly ripped loose. The eerie green glow of the screen reflected off the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose, flickering incessantly.

He gulped down a mouthful of black coffee like he was swallowing a pill, then reached out his right hand and grabbed the red secure telephone receiver with its complicated knobs.

"Frank." Endo's voice was hoarse, transmitted through an undersea fiber optic cable to Wall Street on the other side of the world. "Confirm the final architecture nodes."

A faint static noise emanated from the speaker, accompanied by Frank's steady breathing.

"Yes, Mr. Endo."

"As per the company's arrangements, the Umbrella Trust structure is now fully in place. I have informed the Cayman Islands fund of funds that 120 independent sub-trusts have been established. The Liechtenstein legal team has also completed the cross-authorization of the Nominee Director."

The rustling sound of paper turning came along the wire.

"Furthermore, all trust accounts have completed the underlying penetration test with futures brokers in New York and Chicago. In theory, once the funds are in place, this system can convert a large amount of yen into U.S. short-term Treasury bills (T-Bills) and Swiss francs scattered across hundreds of accounts within 48 hours."

Endo stared at the green indicator lights on the screen that represented offshore account channels. Each green light signified that a hidden channel for withdrawing funds had been connected.

"What about the options trading seats?"

Endo continued to confirm.

"The shell accounts at the Chicago Mercantile Exchange (CME) and the Singapore International Monetary Exchange (SIMEX) have all been activated. We are awaiting instructions to use maximum leverage at any time to make large-scale purchases of deep out-of-the-money (OTM) put options on the Nikkei 225 index with expiry dates next year..."

Just then, the explosion-proof door of the isolation chamber was gently pushed open.

Saionji Satsuki stepped into the isolation ward.

Today she was wearing a soft, light gray turtleneck cashmere sweater, layered with a beige long cardigan that lacked any stiff cut.

"Young...Young Miss."

Endo instantly sobered up the moment he saw Satsuki; it was more effective than any amount of black coffee he drank.

He struggled to get up.

"Sit down, you've worked hard too. I'll just say a few things and leave, it'll be quick."

She raised her hand to signal Endo not to move, walked behind him, and her gaze fell on the screen that was flashing with a ghostly green light.

"Tell Frank." Satsuki's clear voice cut through the hum of the server fans. "Keep the channels silent. The pipeline is complete; do not conduct any exploratory fund transfers."

She leaned down slightly, placed her hands on the edge of the control panel, and stared at the screen.

"Our domestic asset swap program has already started. Once the first batch of 'juicy assets' is stuffed into the mouths of those zaibatsu, and domestic sales generate a huge amount of yen, then we'll need these channels."

"So until then, make sure these pipelines are available, understand?"

Endo held the receiver and relayed the instructions.

Frank responded in a deep voice on the other end of the phone.

"Understood. The meat grinder on Wall Street is powered on. We're here awaiting your signal."