In December, the sky over Nagatacho hung like an old rag washed too many times, a depressing shade of grayish-white.
The air here felt heavier than elsewhere in Tokyo. The granite National Diet Building stood sternly in the cold wind, resembling a massive tomb whose tower tip barely pierced the low clouds.
Inside the House of Peers Members' Office Building, an aging pre-war structure, deep red carpets lined the corridors, their edges worn smooth by decades of footsteps. Oil portraits of past speakers hung on the walls, their solemn faces gazing down at every passerby beneath the dim yellow wall lamps.
Shuichi's office occupied a quiet corner on the third floor.
The room was modest in size and furnished simply: an aged mahogany desk, two leather sofas for visitors, and walls lined with bookshelves.
In the corner, an old-fashioned cast-iron radiator worked at full capacity, hissing with the flow of hot water and occasionally emitting a sharp clang as the pipes expanded and contracted in the heat.
Shuichi sat behind the desk, absorbed in the day's edition of the Nikkei Shimbun.
The front-page headline was stark:
"Export Volume Declines for Six Consecutive Months; Number of Small and Medium-Sized Enterprise Bankruptcies Hits Post-War High."
Beside it appeared a photograph of closed factory gates in an Osaka industrial zone and crowds of protesting workers.
"Knock, knock."
Two restrained taps sounded at the door.
"Come in."
The door opened a crack, and the secretary peered inside, looking visibly nervous.
"Councilor Saionji, Mr. Kato has arrived."
Shuichi set the newspaper aside, rose, and straightened the hem of his suit jacket.
"Please show him in."
The door opened fully.
A middle-aged man in a gray trench coat and wool scarf entered. He carried no entourage and even held a somewhat worn briefcase, resembling an ordinary section manager returning from a long day at the office.
Yet Shuichi knew this man held the pulse of the entire Japanese economy in his hands.
Masao Kato.
Deputy Governor of the Bank of Japan. He was also Shuichi's former classmate and close friend from the Faculty of Law at the University of Tokyo.
"Long time no see, Shuichi."
Kato removed his scarf, revealing a slightly puffy face. Dark bags shadowed his eyes, and bloodshot streaks marked the whites—clear signs of prolonged insomnia and relentless anxiety.
"Indeed, Masao. Has it been nearly half a year?"
Shuichi stepped forward. Rather than offering a formal handshake, he patted the other man's shoulder in the familiar manner of their student days.
"You have lost so much weight."
"Scolded thin," Kato replied with a bitter smile. He tossed his briefcase onto the sofa and sank heavily into it.
"Every morning I wake to scolding from the MITI officials, then from the Ministry of Finance. When I return home at night, television commentators continue the assault."
He rubbed his temples and released a long sigh.
"In this position, it is difficult not to lose weight."
Shuichi turned to the tea cabinet and personally brewed two cups of sencha.
The leaves were ordinary Shizuoka stock, nothing as refined as gyokuro. Yet he knew Kato preferred this simple flavor; it was what they had drunk together during all-night study sessions for the bar examination in their university days.
"Have some tea."
Shuichi placed the steaming cup before his guest.
"Thank you."
Kato cupped the vessel in both hands and inhaled the fragrant steam. His tense shoulders relaxed a fraction.
"It is truly cold outside," he remarked. "I hear this winter will be a difficult one to endure."
"Yes," Shuichi replied, settling onto the opposite sofa and gesturing toward the newspaper on the desk. "I have seen the reports. The situation appears far from optimistic. Manufacturing is voicing loud complaints."
"It is worse than merely unoptimistic."
Kato set his cup down, his gaze darkening.
"The Americans are forcing yen appreciation to correct the trade deficit. The currency has already risen from 240 to 160 to the dollar. Export-oriented companies are bleeding profusely. Small and medium-sized factories lacking core technology are especially vulnerable; company presidents are jumping from buildings almost daily."
"Pressure from the Prime Minister's Official Residence is intense. Prime Minister Nakasone summoned me yesterday. Although he did not state it outright, the implication was unmistakable: something must be done."
Shuichi remained silent, listening attentively.
He understood that Kato's private visit today was not merely to vent frustration.
In this delicate period, a confidential meeting between the Deputy Governor of the central bank and a member of the House of Peers would supply endless material for conspiracy theories if discovered by the press.
"Shuichi."
Kato suddenly looked up, fixing his old classmate with a steady gaze through his glasses.
"You have been making significant moves in real estate lately. I heard about the building in Ginza. Well played."
"Merely small-scale activity," Shuichi replied with a modest smile. "Earning a little pocket money to supplement household expenses."
"Pocket money?"
Kato shook his head with a wry half-smile.
"In today's Ginza, a building's rental yield exceeds that of government bonds. That can hardly be called pocket money."
He fell silent for a moment, his fingers unconsciously tracing the rim of the teacup.
"In truth, I came today to offer you a reminder."
Here it comes, Shuichi thought. His pulse quickened slightly, yet his expression remained composed.
"Please continue."
Kato glanced at the closed door to ensure it was secure.
Then he leaned forward and lowered his voice, as though afraid even the air might overhear.
"Next January—February at the latest."
He raised two fingers in a scissor-like gesture.
"We are going to act."
"Act?" Shuichi echoed. "You mean…"
"Interest-rate cuts."
Kato uttered the words as though pronouncing a death sentence.
"And not a modest adjustment. We intend to slash the official discount rate to 2.5 percent in a single stroke."
Shuichi's hand, still holding the teacup, froze in mid-air.
"2.5 percent."
In this era, that figure approached negative territory.
It meant banks could borrow from the central bank at virtually no cost. It meant ordinary deposits would lose all value.
"That is extremely aggressive," Shuichi frowned. "It will flood the market with liquidity."
"There is no alternative."
Kato spread his hands in helpless resignation.
"It is the only prescription available. Without rate cuts, domestic demand will not recover, and GDP risks negative growth. The Americans will not accept that outcome; they demand we stimulate consumption and purchase more of their goods."
"We have no choice but to open the floodgates."
Kato leaned back against the sofa once more, staring at the dim chandelier overhead.
"Do you understand what this signifies, Shuichi?"
"It means money will become cheaper than paper."
"Banks will pursue companies and individuals for loans like rabid dogs. Projects once deemed too risky and assets once considered unattainable will suddenly lie within easy reach."
"It is like injecting a massive dose of adrenaline into a person on the verge of freezing to death."
Kato turned his head, regarding Shuichi with a complex expression.
"He will revive. But he will also go mad."
"As the central bank, our mandate is to preserve currency stability. Yet now… we are about to manufacture inflation with our own hands."
"It is a sin."
Shuichi remained silent for a long while.
He could hear the helplessness and quiet dread in his old classmate's voice. As an elite trained in classical economics, Kato understood precisely the consequences of such drastic monetary easing.
This was no ordinary market rescue.
Pandora's box was about to be opened by their own hands.
"Masao."
Shuichi set his teacup down, his voice low.
"Since you recognize the consequences, why share this with me?"
By any measure, this information constituted an absolute state secret. Leaking it before the official announcement could send Kato to prison.
Kato laughed—a short, desolate sound.
"Because you belong to the Saionji family. Because you have been acquiring buildings."
He rose and retrieved his trench coat and scarf from the sofa.
"If you still hold cash, spend it quickly. Or better yet… borrow as much as possible."
"By next spring, when you seek loans, it may no longer be your turn. Every door in Japan will be crowded with borrowers."
Kato walked toward the exit while tying his scarf.
"Consider it a small courtesy from an old classmate. In any case, this news will reach the zaibatsu through various channels within days."
"In this country, certain information must always reach some ears first."
Shuichi stood, intending to escort him out.
"No need."
Kato waved a hand.
"Let me walk alone. I wish to see how many more days this gray Nagatacho can remain quiet."
The door opened and closed.
A brief gust of cold air from the corridor intruded, only to be swallowed by the radiator's warmth.
Shuichi remained alone in the office.
The tea in his cup had gone stone cold.
He crossed to the window and opened it a crack.
The icy wind rushed in, disheveling his carefully groomed hair and scattering the room's accumulated heat.
Below, several black official sedans glided slowly out of the Diet gates, their taillights trailing faint red streaks through the twilight.
The gray world still appeared lifeless.
Yet in Shuichi's eyes, every particle of air and every brick had already begun to stir.
A 2.5 percent interest rate.
What manner of number was that?
It would serve as the ultimate accelerant.
It would pour enough fuel upon Japan to transform the entire nation into a roaring furnace.
Once ignited, all rationality, all restraint, and all traditional values would be consumed in the flames.
Only a carnival of desire would remain.
Shuichi closed the window, silencing the howl of the wind.
He returned to the desk and lifted the red telephone receiver.
It was an encrypted private line connected directly to the main family residence in Bunkyo Ward.
"Beep— Beep—"
The phone rang twice before it was answered.
From the other end came the faint rustle of turning pages, followed by a young female voice that was unnervingly calm.
"Father?"
It was Satsuki.
Shuichi drew a deep breath; his throat felt dry.
His knuckles whitened slightly around the receiver.
"Satsuki."
His voice emerged hoarse, yet each word rang clear.
"The wind is coming."
A brief silence followed on the line.
"How strong a wind?" Satsuki asked. Her tone remained steady, but Shuichi detected an undercurrent of irrepressible excitement.
"A typhoon."
Shuichi answered.
"A super typhoon, at that. The floodgates are opening. Next January—2.5 percent."
"Snap."
A crisp sound echoed from the receiver, like a pencil being broken in two.
Then came a soft laugh.
The quiet, triumphant laugh of a victor.
"It has finally arrived."
Satsuki's voice lightened, almost as though she were singing a cheerful nursery rhyme.
"Father, it seems our Christmas present has arrived early."
"Prepare all the family's available cash."
"Notify the banks as well. We are borrowing."
"How much?"
"As much as they will lend."
"Even if we must mortgage the Crystal Palace in Ginza, even if we must pledge the title deeds of the main residence, it does not matter."
"Because starting tomorrow, money is nothing but waste paper."
"We will exchange that waste paper for every ounce of gold this world possesses."
Shuichi hung up the phone.
He stared at the red receiver for a long moment, unmoving.
The radiator continued its steady hiss.
It sounded like a fuse burning steadily toward its end.
It was the sound of the monster called "Bubble" breaking free from its shell.
Outside, night had fallen.
Lights flickered on across Nagatacho, dots of illumination joining into a quiet constellation.
They appeared so peaceful, so serene.
Yet beneath that tranquil surface, a flood powerful enough to submerge everything was silently drawing near.