Late November in Tokyo brought the cold front exactly on schedule.
On the street corners of Ginza 7-chome, the wind carried the bite of razor blades, stinging every exposed face. Pedestrians hunched their shoulders, pulled their coats tighter, and hurried past the dusty clusters of older buildings.
That winter, which the media had already labeled the "Endaka Recession," seemed to shroud the entire Japanese economy in a layer of gray haze.
Yet amid that monochrome landscape rose a single, shimmering sapphire.
It was a seven-story building.
In sharp contrast to the surrounding structures—with their beige tiles and narrow windows—its entire exterior was clad in deep blue coated glass. When the weak winter sunlight struck it, the surface reflected a cool, high-end luster, like a crystal monument that had fallen from the sky and thrust itself arrogantly into the soil of Ginza.
Above the main entrance there were no flashy signs, only a simple line of silver English lettering:
G-7 CRYSTAL (Ginza 7-chome Crystal Palace).
A red carpet had been laid at the entrance, flanked by baskets of congratulatory flowers. White moth orchids and red roses trembled in the cold wind yet still managed to hold an expensive, dignified posture.
"Click, click, click."
Flashbulbs flickered frantically, turning the gloomy morning as bright as day.
Dozens of financial reporters brandished cameras and recording pens like sharks that had caught the scent of blood, crowding both sides of the red carpet.
"Mr. Saionji! Please look this way!"
"The construction cost of this building is said to be three times higher than that of surrounding properties. In the current economic climate, aren't you worried about failing to recoup your investment?"
"I heard that Okura Real Estate's project in Chiba has already halted construction. With the Saionji family expanding against the market trend at this time, is your capital chain truly secure?"
Shuichi stood before the cluster of microphones.
He wore a deep blue bespoke suit with a silver-gray tie, his hair combed with meticulous care. The occasional anxiety that had surfaced half a year earlier had now vanished completely.
In its place was an aura of flawless composure.
He raised one hand slightly, palm downward.
That natural authority, honed in the House of Peers, instantly silenced the noisy crowd of reporters.
"Everyone."
Shuichi's voice carried clearly across the street corner through the speakers.
"This winter, we have heard many complaints about the 'cold.'"
His gaze swept over the forest of outstretched microphones.
"Some claim that the yen's appreciation is a disaster—the doomsday of the Japanese economy. Our cars no longer sell, they say, and our televisions sit stagnant on store shelves."
Shuichi paused and turned to gesture at the glistening building behind him.
"But in truth, for us the yen's appreciation is not a disaster."
"It is an opportunity."
"Because our money has suddenly become far more valuable in the eyes of the world."
Rather than answering the question about costs directly, he turned sideways and made an inviting motion.
"Instead of debating dry numbers here on the street, why not step inside and see for yourselves exactly who is footing the bill for this building in the so-called 'recession.'"
The glass sensor doors slid open without a sound.
A wave of warm air, fragrant with expensive scent, rushed out and instantly dispelled the chill at the entrance.
The reporters surged forward.
Then they stopped short.
This was no narrow foyer of a traditional office building, nor the crowded counters of an ordinary department store.
The first-floor lobby was completely open, with a soaring six-meter ceiling. The floor was paved with solid slabs of Italian Carrara white marble whose veins flowed like an ink-wash painting. A massive crystal chandelier hung overhead, scattering brilliant, radiant light.
On both sides of the lobby stood two imposing shops that resembled art exhibition cases.
To the left was the logo of the renowned French jewelry house Boucheron. In the window, a diamond-encrusted necklace sparkled under spotlights with dazzling fire.
To the right was the Italian leather-goods brand Bottega Veneta. Exquisitely woven handbags rested on brass racks, looking almost alive.
"This… this is…"
A senior financial reporter's mouth fell open.
"These brands… I have only ever seen them in Paris and Milan. When did they enter Japan?"
"Just today," Shuichi replied, stepping to the center of the lobby with a smile.
"And this is only the first floor."
He pointed to the directory board beside the elevators.
Second Floor: Chanel Haute Couture Salon.
Third Floor: Christian Dior Private Customization Center.
Fourth Floor: Swiss Luxury Watch Joint Showroom.
Every name represented the absolute pinnacle of European luxury.
"My friends from the press, you asked earlier whether I worried about recouping the costs."
Shuichi adjusted his cufflinks, his tone perfectly indifferent.
"The truth is, three months before this building even opened, the occupancy rate had already reached eighty percent."
"These European brands were so eager that some offered to pay a full year's rent in advance simply to secure a space."
The entire lobby erupted in murmurs.
In a cold winter when Japanese companies were laying off workers and filing for bankruptcy, this building seemed to belong to another world—one flowing with milk and honey.
"Why?" someone could not help asking. "Why would they choose to come to Japan at a time like this?"
"Because of the yen's appreciation."
The answer came not from Shuichi but from a blond, blue-eyed Frenchman standing quietly in the corner.
He was the Far East president of Boucheron.
He stepped forward, his face alight with excitement, and spoke in stiff but enthusiastic Japanese.
"Because right now Tokyo is the wealthiest city in the world, with the strongest purchasing power anywhere."
The Frenchman waved his arms, eyes fervent.
"A year ago, if we wanted to sell something for ten thousand francs, a Japanese customer would have had to pay four hundred thousand yen. Now? Only two hundred thousand yen!"
"To the Japanese, our jewelry suddenly feels fifty percent off! Who could resist such a temptation?"
"Mr. Saionji is a genius." The Frenchman shook Shuichi's hand firmly, full of admiration. "He recognized this opportunity and built us such a perfect, luxurious stage. The rent is high, yes—but it is worth every yen. Because this is Ginza! The very center of all Asia!"
The sound of camera shutters erupted once more.
This time the lenses were no longer aimed at Shuichi with skepticism, but at the gleaming jewelry, at the smiling Frenchman, and at the Crystal Palace itself—which had already begun to display the unmistakable style of the coming Bubble Era.
The reporters finally understood.
The Saionji family was not merely playing at real estate.
They were playing the exchange rate.
They were using the very "strong yen" that was destroying families like the Okuras to import the world's finest luxury goods into Tokyo and harvest the sudden surge in purchasing power now filling Japanese pockets.
It was a perfect, closed loop.
After the ceremony, on the top floor of the building.
This was the "Saionji Family Private Gallery" that Shuichi had reserved for their exclusive use.
Though nominally a public-welfare gallery created to obtain a floor-area-ratio bonus, it remained public in name only. In reality it functioned as a private sky lounge.
Through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows one could overlook the entire streetscape of Ginza 7-chome.
The crowds below appeared as tiny as ants; the gray roofs of surrounding buildings stretched away in orderly lines. Only this sapphire tower stood like a solitary, proud lighthouse.
Satsuki sat on the sofa by the window, studying a freshly printed financial statement.
She had not gone downstairs to join the excitement. Such a glamorous stage was sufficient for her father to command. She preferred to remain behind the scenes, quietly counting the gold that flowed into their coffers.
"The rental income is even higher than projected," Shuichi announced as he pushed open the door, loosening his tie. His face still carried a trace of excitement he could not quite conceal.
He walked to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of whisky.
"That Frenchman approached me again just now. He wants to rent half of the second floor as well, to expand their VIP room, and is willing to add another ten percent to the current rent."
Shuichi swirled the glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light.
"Satsuki, do you know what this means?"
"It means the building generates two hundred million yen in cash flow per month."
Satsuki did not even look up; her finger traced steadily across the report.
"After deducting bank-loan interest and maintenance costs, the net profit is approximately one hundred and fifty million yen."
She set the report down and met her father's eyes.
"Father, this is the true power of capital."
"A year ago this was nothing but a dilapidated warehouse filled with broken porcelain. President Tamura nearly jumped from a building over a mere two million yen in interest."
"And now it has become a money-printing machine."
Shuichi walked to the window and looked down at the bustling Central Link below.
Elegant ladies in fine coats were already lining up to enter, clutching year-end bonuses that had not yet warmed in their hands, eager to exchange them for handbags bearing the interlocking-C logo.
"It is truly ironic," Shuichi sighed.
"Okura is still weeping in the mud of Chiba, while we sit here drinking whisky and counting money."
"We are both in real estate. Why is the difference so vast?"
"Because our directions are entirely different."
Satsuki rose and joined her father at the window.
She barely reached his chest in height, yet her vision seemed to stretch far beyond his.
"Okura gambled on 'Made in Japan.' He believed the factories would run forever and that workers would always be able to afford houses. He lost to the exchange rate."
"We are gambling on 'Japanese Desire.'"
Satsuki pressed her palm against the cold glass.
"As long as the yen continues to appreciate, as long as the Japanese feel they have suddenly become rich, this building will remain full."
"This is only the first Crystal Palace."
She turned and pointed toward Akasaka in the distance.
"That 'Pink Building' over there will be completed next month. It is a hunting ground prepared for professional women—or rather, a hunting ground for us to harvest their salaries."
"And the club in Azabu-Juban is nearly ready as well."
Shuichi took a deep breath. The whisky warmed his blood.
Three months earlier he had still thought these plans sounded insane.
Now, with the cold, hard cash-flow statements before him, he only felt they were not ambitious enough.
"Satsuki."
Shuichi turned to look at his daughter.
"With this steady cash flow, the bank has raised our credit rating to the highest level. Yesterday the president of Mitsui Bank hinted that if the Saionji family needs funds, we may ask at any time. Anything up to ten billion yen requires no collateral."
"Ten billion…"
Satsuki weighed the number silently.
To an ordinary person the figure would have been enough to weaken the knees or spark wild joy.
Yet her expression remained calm—almost cold.
"Do not be in a hurry to borrow," she said, walking back to the sofa and picking up her schoolbag.
"Why not? Interest rates are so low right now…" Shuichi looked puzzled.
"Because they will fall even lower."
Satsuki glanced back at him.
"Father, have you forgotten that rumor?"
"Rumor?"
"To combat the 'Endaka Recession' and rescue failing enterprises like Okura, the central bank is preparing to act."
Satsuki raised a finger and pointed toward the ceiling.
"This round of rate cuts will be unprecedented."
"It is the signal that the floodgates are about to open completely."
"When that moment arrives, money will become cheaper than paper. Banks will kneel and beg us to take their funds."
"What we must do now is continue accumulating the cash flow from this building."
She patted the report.
"These are our bullets."
"When the signal sounds, we will use them to seize every last prime asset still remaining in Tokyo."
Shuichi looked at his daughter.
In that instant he no longer saw a junior-high-school girl standing before him, but a champion sprinter poised at the starting line—already anticipating the crack of the pistol.
She was gathering her strength.
She was waiting for the moment that would plunge all of Japan into frenzy.
"Dong—"
The hourly chime rang from below, the great clock of the Hattori Clock Shop striking noon.
At last the sunlight pierced the thick layers of cloud and spilled across the streets of Ginza.
The blue Crystal Palace erupted in dazzling light, so bright it was almost blinding.
It was beautiful, impossibly expensive, and coldly magnificent.
Just like the era that was about to unfold.
Shuichi raised his glass toward the sun beyond the window and gave it a soft clink.
"To desire," he said quietly.
Satsuki slung her schoolbag over her shoulder and pulled open the heavy oak door.
To the bubble, she added silently in her heart.
The door closed behind her, leaving Shuichi alone at that lofty height, gazing down upon a city already beginning to sink into a sea of money.