In the tea room, the western sun had softened from brilliant gold to a mellow amber, casting long, tranquil shadows across the tatami. The map of Tokyo spread upon the red sandalwood table no longer resembled mere geography; it had become a strategic battlefield, every district a potential conquest.
Shuichi sat upright, hands resting formally on his knees. Across from him sat his daughter, who had only just turned twelve. The usual paternal warmth in his eyes had given way to the solemn respect one reserves for a master strategist.
"First, the land," Satsuki began.
She picked up a red drafting pencil. Her small hand moved with unwavering steadiness as the tip hovered over the map's most crowded and expensive central districts—Chiyoda, the Central District, and the Port Area.
"Father, I mentioned wanting to 'build palaces,' but that vision belongs to the future. Palaces erected on bubbles are far too fragile."
With a precise flick of her wrist, the pencil skirted the heart of Marunouchi—already carved up by the great zaibatsu—and settled instead on the fringes of Ginza and the deeper reaches of Akasaka.
"Roppongi will see grand urban redevelopment in the years ahead, but it is still too early. Ownership there is tangled, and 'nail houses' stand as numerous as blades of grass. Becoming mired in endless demolition disputes would bleed our cash flow dry."
She drew two firm circles: one at Ginza 7-chome and another at Akasaka-mitsuke.
"What we must become are vultures—and makeup artists."
Shuichi's brow furrowed slightly as he absorbed the unfamiliar terms. "Makeup artists?"
"Precisely." Satsuki nodded. "Many buildings in prime locations are currently on the market. Their positions are excellent, yet they were constructed in the Showa 30s. Their facilities are outdated, their façades old-fashioned, and poor management by the original owners has left them burdened with debt."
She pointed to the red circles.
"We will use our cash advantage to acquire these properties at bargain prices—especially those held by small and medium-sized owners desperate for liquidity after suffering export losses from the yen's appreciation."
"Once purchased, we will not demolish them."
She raised a finger and wagged it gently.
"We will only renovate. We will install the most fashionable glass curtain walls, the swiftest elevators, and adorn the lobbies with expensive abstract paintings. In short, we will transform each Cinderella into a princess."
"And then?" Shuichi pressed. "Sell them?"
"No. Lease only—and for the time being, we will not sell at all."
Satsuki's reply was decisive.
"Over the next two or three years, Tokyo's rents will climb to heights you can scarcely imagine. The rental income will cover the bank interest, allowing us to use these buildings as collateral for further loans. With that fresh capital, we will acquire even more properties."
"However, there is one crucial detail."
Satsuki lifted her gaze, her eyes burning with intensity as she met her father's.
"The floor-area ratios of these old buildings are usually quite low. To make their value soar, we will need to bend certain rules."
She tapped the pencil tip against a spot in Akasaka.
"For instance, securing special approval to raise a twenty-meter height limit to forty meters, or rezoning land from residential to commercial use."
Shuichi paused, then comprehension dawned. This was, after all, his domain.
"I see." His fingers tapped lightly on the tabletop. "The City Planning Bureau at the Ministry of Construction, along with key committee members at the Tokyo Metropolitan Government. With appropriate political donations and my position in the House of Peers, obtaining a few 'special-case' permits should not prove difficult."
"Exactly."
A satisfied smile curved Satsuki's lips.
"This is the monetization of influence. What ordinary merchants cannot achieve, the Saionji family can. That is our premium."
She continued sketching across the map.
"By 1988 or 1989, when every fool in Japan believes 'Tokyo land prices can only rise,' and when insurance companies and agricultural cooperatives sit on hundreds of billions with nowhere to spend it…"
"We will package these gilded 'princesses' and sell them all at a terrifyingly high price."
A chill traced down Shuichi's spine.
Buy derelict properties at low cost, enhance them through privilege, collect steady rental dividends, then cash out at the market peak and exit cleanly. The strategy formed a flawless closed loop.
He no longer doubted his daughter's timing. In his eyes, Satsuki had become something almost supernatural—an instrument of heavenly will, destined to elevate the Saionji family to unprecedented heights.
"Next," Satsuki continued, her finger sliding to a quiet corner of Azabu-Juban in the Port Area.
"We will open a club here, in that old Western-style house we recently reacquired."
"A club?" Shuichi looked surprised. "We already have commercial holdings in Ginza…"
"This is not a hostess nightclub."
Satsuki shook her head, her expression turning enigmatic.
"I intend to create a modern Showa-era Rokumeikan."
"No signage, no walk-ins. Membership requires an entry fee of one hundred million yen and recommendations from two existing directors. Even if someone possesses the money, if their background is unclean or their status insufficient, we will not admit them."
She lowered her voice, a hint of allure threading through her words.
"Father, consider this era of parvenus. What do those who truly wield power—and the newly rich desperate to legitimize their status—lack most?"
Shuichi pondered briefly. "A place that makes them feel… singular?"
"Precisely. They lack a sense of class."
Satsuki snapped her fingers.
"Though the Saionji family's former glory has dimmed, our name remains the finest gold-lettered brand. We are not selling wine; we are selling the threshold itself."
"Here, members of the Takeshita faction may hold discreet talks with tycoons such as Yoshiaki Tsutsumi. Foreign investment bankers can exchange intelligence with MITI bureaucrats. And we…"
Satsuki smiled faintly, like a spider poised at the center of its web.
"We are the house. All intelligence, all insider secrets, all connections will flow into our hands."
"This is true social currency."
Shuichi drew a deep breath. He was utterly captivated. This was no mere money-making scheme; it was a plan to restore—and reshape—the Saionji family's influence across both political and business spheres.
"I will serve as chairman," he declared, ambition rekindling in his eyes. "I shall remind my old acquaintances that the Saionji threshold stands higher than ever."
Satsuki nodded and rolled up half the map. From beside her, she produced a swatch of high-grade silk from the Saionji Textiles factory. It felt smooth and cool against the skin.
"Now that we have discussed the glamour, let us address the necessary 'dirty work.'"
"Saionji Textiles." Shuichi gazed at the fabric with reluctance. "Must we sell it?"
"No. We will let it feign death."
Satsuki drew a world map from her schoolbag and let her finger glide across the East China Sea before pressing firmly onto the vast continent beyond.
"China."
"Father, do you know what is unfolding there at this moment?"
Shuichi hesitated. "I have heard they are pursuing 'Reform and Opening-up.' Yet the country remains very poor…"
"It is precisely because it is poor that opportunity abounds," Satsuki interrupted. "Countless young workers, endless cheap land, and wages merely one-twentieth—or less—of those in Japan."
"We will secretly relocate all low-end garment production lines from the Nagoya factory to China."
"In Japan, we will retain only the prestigious high-end lines—Nishijin-ori and Yuzen dyeing—to preserve our dignity as an imperial supplier. Everything else will be produced as 'Made in China,' rebranded under our new label, and shipped back to Japan for sale."
Shuichi frowned. "But consumers now favor famous brands. This sort of cheap clothing…"
"Just because they do not desire it today does not mean they will not tomorrow."
Satsuki's eyes grew profound as she regarded her father.
"Father, the bubble will burst one day. When it does, land prices will plummet, wages will shrink, and those now flaunting cash for Armani will scramble for Uniqlo—or even cheaper garments like these."
"Our task is to prepare warm coats before winter arrives."
"We shall call the new brand 'S-Style.' Simple, durable, and inexpensive—that will be its only creed."
Shuichi fell silent. Though he could not yet envision the "winter" she described, he chose to trust his daughter's foresight.
On one side stood the glittering Rokumeikan, reveling at the bubble's dazzling peak. On the other lay humble, affordable clothing prepared for the masses.
This duality was simply… the two-faced Janus.
"The two-faced god of Roman mythology," Shuichi murmured, gazing at his daughter with newfound awe. "One face turned toward the past, the other to the future. One toward heaven, the other toward hell."
"The Saionji family has become that god."
Satsuki smiled.
"A fitting metaphor, Father."
She slid the final document across the table—an authorization form for a Credit Suisse account.
"Finally, there is the matter of the American dollars."
"Three hundred and fifty million dollars. Not a single cent of this sum should return to Japan."
"Why?" Shuichi asked. "The country needs capital everywhere right now."
"Because the yen is appreciating," Satsuki explained. "Today, one dollar fetches roughly 210 yen; next year it may fall to 150. Exchanging now would mean losing heavily on the rate."
"Besides, in America, opportunities gleam like gold."
Her fingers tapped the air lightly, as though selecting prey. Her past-life knowledge had equipped her with countless classic American investment cases; she now possessed so many high-quality plans that choosing among them felt almost burdensome.
"Holly wood film companies are starved for funding. In Silicon Valley garages, clusters of young people in glasses type away at code, holding the keys to the next century."
"We will become their angel investors. We will acquire companies that appear worthless today yet will reshape the world tomorrow."
"For example, that small firm called Microsoft. I understand they plan to go public next year."
Satsuki mentioned the name as casually as if she were speaking of a neighborhood ramen shop.
"As long as we secure these assets, even if Japan itself were to sink, the Saionji family could be reborn on the far side of the ocean."
Shuichi exhaled slowly. His mind felt nearly overloaded.
Real estate, the exclusive club, the textile transformation, and overseas mergers and acquisitions—four mighty pillars supporting an empire beyond anything he had ever imagined.
And the architect of it all was his twelve-year-old daughter, who now sat serenely sipping her tea.
"I understand."
Shuichi rose, crossed to the window, and pushed it open. Fresh air swept in, dispelling the heavy fragrance of sandalwood.
"Satsuki," he said, gazing at the ancient well in the courtyard, "I once believed that merely guarding this well and this house would honor our ancestors."
"Only now do I realize that true preservation demands offense."
He turned, his gaze steady and resolute.
"I will secure the Akasaka permit within the week. If the old factory manager in Nagoya dares oppose the move to China, he may take his pension and leave."
"As for the Rokumeikan…"
Shuichi straightened his tie, the confident smile of a House of Peers member returning to his face.
"Provide me with the list. I will ensure the most powerful figures in Tokyo consider a Saionji membership card their proudest possession."
Satsuki stood and offered her father a perfect curtsy.
"Then I leave it in your hands, Father."
She looked up, her face blooming into the sweet, coquettish smile of a daughter.
"By the way, Father."
"Hmm?"
"This weekend, I wish to visit Akihabara."
Shuichi blinked, then burst into laughter.
Moments earlier they had spoken of business empires worth billions, and now she wished to visit the district of electrical parts and gadgets. She was still a child, after all.
"Go ahead," he said, waving a hand with fond indulgence. "Take Fujita and several more men with you. If you want a game console or a Walkman, simply buy the entire shop."
Satsuki blinked.
"It is not for buying things."
"It is to collect a small bit of… pocket money."
Shuichi did not press further. In his view, her five million yen in "private savings" amounted to little more than pocket change compared with the family's current scale.
What he did not know was that, in a modest shop called Itakura Trading Company, a plumber dressed in overalls had already ignited a craze among children across Japan that October.
That was no mere pocket money.
The entry ticket to yet another colossal empire—the entertainment empire—had also been secured by Satsuki.
"Well then," she said softly, "class is dismissed."
With gentle movements, she rolled up the map on the table, as though cradling the coming mad era itself in the palm of her hand.
Outside the window, the sun sank westward.
And within the Saionji family's tea room, the monster known as the Saionji Zaibatsu had opened its eyes.