Monday, February 23, 1987.
Otemachi, Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo.
The sky hung low and leaden, pressing heavily upon the forest of granite and glass that formed the financial district. The early-spring wind remained sharp, whistling through the narrow gap between the KPMG Building and the Sankei Shimbun Building, snatching discarded newspapers from the roadside and slapping them against the asphalt.
Yet this cold wind could not cool the fever that had seized Tokyo.
At 8:50 a.m., ten minutes before the Tokyo Stock Exchange opened, a dense crowd had already gathered outside the Otemachi branch of Nomura Securities. Salarymen in dark suits clutched briefcases, housewives wore scarves and carried grocery baskets, and even a few elderly retirees peered through reading glasses while leaning on walking sticks.
All of them were doing the same thing: staring upward.
Their eyes fixed with fanatic intensity on the rows of giant red electronic display boards in the windows, as though those flickering numbers were sacred scriptures leading straight to paradise.
"Why hasn't it opened yet? The suspense is unbearable!"
"I heard the futures went wild last night!"
"The central bank has truly gone all out this time! Two point five percent! They are practically giving money away!"
The clamor surged along the narrow street like boiling water.
Not far away, a black Nissan President with special license plates glided slowly through the restless sea of people like a silent deep-sea creature.
Its windows were tightly closed; the double-layered acoustic glass sealed out the roaring frenzy outside.
Inside the car, the heater ran at full strength, filling the cabin with the faint scent of fine leather.
Saionji Shuichi sat on the left side of the rear seat, a freshly purchased copy of the Nikkei spread across his lap. The newspaper still carried the sharp smell of ink.
The front-page headline screamed in bold, shockingly large characters:
"HISTORIC DECISION! OFFICIAL DISCOUNT RATE LOWERED TO 2.5%! LOWEST LEVEL SINCE THE WAR!"
Below the headline appeared a photograph of Bank of Japan Governor Yasushi Sumita bowing at a press conference. Though his expression remained neutral, the faint upward curve of his lips hinted at the first stirrings of collective madness.
"Insane. Everyone has gone completely insane."
Financial Director Endo, seated in the passenger seat, kept wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. Despite the comfortable temperature inside the car, he felt as though he were trapped in a steam bath.
He turned and peered through the window at the crowd waving bankbooks and personal seals.
"President, look at that man in the gray trench coat. Isn't he the section manager from Suzuki Trading? Just last week he was complaining to me that his salary could barely cover rent. Yet here he is, lining up outside a securities firm."
Shuichi followed Endo's pointing finger.
Indeed, the middle-aged man was gesturing animatedly to the person beside him, spit flying, showing no trace of financial distress.
"Because everyone now believes that if they simply throw their money into that pool, they will wake up millionaires tomorrow."
Shuichi folded the newspaper with a crisp rustle.
"Mr. Endo, if you knew that money sitting in the bank not only earned no interest but was actually losing value every day to inflation, what would you do?"
"I…" Endo, an old-fashioned accountant who had always lived by the principle of prudence, stammered. "I would… place it in a fixed-term deposit?"
"A fixed-term deposit?" Shuichi smiled, a faint chill in his expression. "Current fixed-term rates cannot even keep pace with a fraction of the rise in land prices."
The car rounded a corner, and a magnificent building came into view.
Massive Doric columns supported a heavy portico; the bronze doors were carved with intricate patterns, giving the structure the solemn grandeur of a temple.
Mitsui Bank Headquarters.
This was one of the nerve centers that controlled the lifeblood of the Japanese economy, a physical embodiment of the old zaibatsu's power.
In the past, those doors had remained tightly shut, radiating an aloof chill that kept supplicants at a distance. Presidents of small and medium-sized enterprises seeking emergency loans would often wait an entire day in a side-room reception area, sipping cheap tea, only to endure the loan officer's dismissive attitude.
But today those heavy bronze doors stood wide open.
Two rows of bank employees in crisp uniforms lined either side of the entrance. Their hands rested neatly over their stomachs. When they saw the black Nissan approach, they bowed in perfect unison, their angles so precise they might have been measured with a protractor.
Ninety degrees.
"Councilor Saionji! Welcome!"
The synchronized greeting echoed through the marble lobby.
Before the car had even come to a complete stop, a gloved hand swiftly opened the rear door.
"Thank you for honoring us with your presence, Mr. Saionji."
The lobby manager's face wore an almost sycophantic smile; his waist bent so low it seemed he wished to bury his head in the carpet.
Shuichi stepped out. His leather shoes clicked sharply against the mirror-polished marble floor. He adjusted the collar of his deep blue cashmere coat and glanced over the sea of bowed heads.
"Is President Kanda here?"
"Yes! Yes! The President is already waiting for you at the elevator!"
The manager gestured respectfully and led Shuichi toward the executive elevator at the far end of the lobby.
"Ding."
The elevator doors slid open.
A slightly stout older man with graying hair and gold-rimmed glasses stood inside. He wore a meticulously tailored three-piece suit, a silk handkerchief folded into a perfect triangle peeking from his breast pocket.
Masayuki Kanda, President of Mitsui Bank.
"Ah, Mr. Saionji!"
Before Shuichi could fully exit the elevator, President Kanda stepped forward and extended both hands.
"To trouble you to come here in person is truly inexcusable!"
He grasped Shuichi's hand and shook it vigorously. His palms were warm and damp with sweat—sweat born of both nervousness and excitement.
"I should have visited your residence, but the bank has been in complete chaos these past few days. I simply could not get away."
Kanda spoke while stepping aside to guide the way.
"Please, come in. It is cold outside, is it not? I have had some first-grade gyokuro flown in from Uji especially to warm you."
Shuichi felt the faint stickiness left on his palm and calmly slipped his hand back into his coat pocket.
"You are too kind, President Kanda."
His voice remained composed, carrying the reserved detachment natural to the nobility.
"I was simply passing through Otemachi and thought I would stop by."
"It is an honor—an immense honor!"
President Kanda smiled until his eyes narrowed to slits, the wrinkles on his face unfolding like a blooming chrysanthemum.
Top floor, the President's private office.
The air here was far quieter than in the lobby below—and far more expensive.
A copy of Monet's Water Lilies hung on the wall; whether authentic or not, in such surroundings even a reproduction carried weight. The Persian carpet underfoot was so thick that every step sank as though treading upon the fur of some enormous beast.
Large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the moat of the Imperial Palace.
On the gray water, several black swans glided peacefully, preening their feathers, utterly indifferent to the financial frenzy unfolding just beyond the palace walls.
Shuichi settled onto a leather sofa.
"Please."
Kanda personally lifted the teapot and poured emerald-green tea into two exquisite Hagi-ware cups.
The aroma rose in delicate curls; it was indeed top-grade gyokuro, carrying a savory note reminiscent of seaweed.
Yet today the tea was not the center of attention in this room.
"President Kanda."
Shuichi lifted his cup, gently blew on the surface, but did not drink.
"Regarding what we discussed on the telephone…"
"It is all prepared!"
President Kanda set the teapot down and quickly retrieved a thick file from his desk, offering it with both hands.
"Following the results of the head office's risk-assessment committee meeting that ran late into the night, we wish first to offer our sincere apologies."
"Apologies?"
Endo, sitting stiffly beside Shuichi, looked startled.
"Yes." Kanda's expression was earnest. "The previous credit limit extended to Saionji Industries was far too conservative. It represented an underestimation of your assets and… a failure to honor the depth of our partnership."
He opened the file to the first page and pointed to a figure.
"Therefore, with special approval from the Board of Directors, we have decided to extend a new comprehensive credit facility."
"The total amount is thirty billion yen."
"Pfft—cough, cough, cough!"
Endo, who had just taken a sip of tea, nearly spat it across the room. Some liquid splashed onto the expensive carpet, yet he did not even notice. He simply stared at the number with eyes wide, as though confronting a ghost.
"H-how much?!"
His voice cracked, rising sharply.
"Thirty billion?!"
He performed a rapid mental calculation. Although the Saionji family had enjoyed a prosperous year and the Ginza buildings generated steady cash flow, their net worth stood at barely over twenty billion yen (excluding overseas assets). A thirty-billion-yen loan? This was not merely mortgaging the family's entire foundation; it was borrowing against decades of future profits.
"Yes, thirty billion."
President Kanda regarded Endo with a tolerant smile, the indulgent look one might give a country cousin who had never seen the wider world.
"Moreover, to demonstrate our sincerity, this facility requires no additional physical collateral from the Saionji family."
"What?!"
This time Endo shot upright from the sofa.
"No collateral? An unsecured credit loan? Thirty billion yen?!"
This arrangement shattered every principle of prudent banking Endo had absorbed during his thirty-year career. Banks were not charities; they were calculating vampires who would lend one yen only if they saw two already in your hand.
When had vampires begun operating blood banks?
"Mr. Endo, please calm yourself."
President Kanda waved a hand, motioning for him to sit.
"We are not lending blindly. We have conducted a fresh valuation of the assets currently held by Saionji Industries."
"For example…" Kanda turned to a page in the appraisal report, "that collection of… scattered parcels in Shibuya and Shinjuku that you acquired at the end of last year."
Shuichi raised an eyebrow.
Those were the "junk lands" Satsuki had purchased in a single frenzied afternoon for twelve billion yen. Two-meter-wide corridors, irregular triangular plots, even former garbage collection stations—the assortment was eclectic. It had seemed as though she had bought whatever crossed her path, without discrimination.
"Although their shapes are irregular," Kanda chose his words with care, "their locations are now diamond-grade in the current market. According to our appraisal department, the value of these parcels has already tripled since your purchase."
Tripled.
In two months.
Shuichi's fingers gently traced the rim of his teacup.
Even though he had been mentally prepared, his heart still skipped a beat at the figure.
Was this the magic of 2.5 percent?
Was this the "wind" Satsuki had spoken of?
"As for the interest rate…"
President Kanda studied Shuichi's expression. When silence continued, he assumed dissatisfaction and gritted his teeth to play his final card.
"Long-term prime rate minus 0.5 percentage points. That is… 3.2 percent."
The room fell quiet.
Only the soft hiss of water circulating through the radiator remained audible.
3.2 percent.
Inflation was already approaching 2 percent, while land prices rose by 50 percent—or even 100 percent—annually.
This was not merely cheap money.
This was the bank losing money on the transaction, practically kneeling and begging him to accept the funds.
"President…" Endo reached out with a trembling hand and tugged at Shuichi's sleeve. "This is too… too reckless. If we assume such enormous debt and land prices should ever correct—even by just 10 percent—we would become insolvent. The entire family would…"
"Mr. Endo."
Shuichi did not turn; he simply interrupted calmly.
He looked into President Kanda's bloodshot yet expectant eyes. That gaze no longer held its former arrogance—only a hungry eagerness to meet lending quotas.
The bank's vaults overflowed with cheap cash that threatened to burst forth like a flood. If it were not lent out, the money would simply rot.
"President Kanda."
Shuichi spoke.
"Thirty billion. I will take it all."
Kanda's face brightened instantly, as though a switch had been flipped.
"However, I have one condition."
"Please, name it! Name it!"
"I require all funds to be available within this week," Shuichi raised a single finger. "Furthermore, I want the disbursement in a combination of cashier's checks and bank drafts for maximum flexibility."
"No problem! We will treat this as a special case!" Kanda thumped his chest. "Sign today, and the first ten billion can be transferred to your account tomorrow morning!"
Shuichi turned to Endo.
"The seal."
Endo's hands shook as he retrieved the ivory-carved corporate seal from his briefcase. He looked at Shuichi, lips moving as though preparing one final plea.
"President, this is gambling…"
"Mr. Endo."
President Kanda rose, walked around the coffee table, and placed a hand on Endo's shoulder with near-missionary zeal.
"You are being overly cautious."
"At this interest rate, in this era…"
Kanda gestured toward the window, toward the frantic streets of Otemachi and the swelling city beyond.
"Not borrowing money is like walking naked in the street."
"The cash in your hand shrinks daily. Only by converting it into bricks, into stocks, into any tangible asset is it safe."
"Borrowing is the highest form of saving."
This absurd declaration, uttered on a morning thick with the scent of money, sounded both deafening and strangely irrefutable.
Endo's hand loosened.
Shuichi took the seal.
He drew the Montblanc fountain pen from his breast pocket and unscrewed the cap.
The nib touched the signature line; ink soaked into the paper.
Saionji Shuichi.
The characters were written steadily, without the slightest tremor.
Thud.
He pressed the seal firmly into the bright red ink pad and stamped it over his name.
The dull sound echoed through the luxurious office like the report of a starting pistol.
President Kanda gazed at the vivid red imprint and released a long sigh of relief. He sank back into the sofa as though exhausted, yet a brilliant smile bloomed across his face.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Saionji!"
He extended his damp hand once more to shake Shuichi's.
"With these funds, I am confident the Saionji family will become the most dazzling zaibatsu of the new era!"
Twenty minutes later.
Shuichi walked out through the doors of Mitsui Bank.
The wind outside remained strong, whipping the hem of his coat.
The clamor in the streets had grown even louder than when he arrived. The Nikkei index had broken through twenty-one thousand points and continued climbing. Cheers rose like waves crashing against the solid bank building.
Shuichi paused, not entering the car immediately.
He stood at the roadside and drew a deep breath.
Cold air rushed into his lungs, carrying the scent of exhaust, the faint fragrance of pine from the distant Imperial Palace, and… something else.
Shuichi wrinkled his nose.
He seemed to detect a cloyingly sweet odor, like fermented and rotting fruit.
It was the smell of cheap ink.
It was the scent of countless brand-new ten-thousand-yen notes pouring off the mint's presses. They flowed through sewers, through airwaves, through greedy human breaths, saturating every corner of the city.
In this 2.5 percent world, money was no longer money.
It was water.
A flood that would drown everything.
"Father?"
The car window lowered, revealing Satsuki's calm young face.
She had not attended school that day and had accompanied them, though she had remained inside the car throughout. Now she held her thick black leather diary, a red pencil resting on her lap.
Shuichi opened the door and slid inside.
The door closed, sealing out the sickly-sweet aroma.
"Signed?" Satsuki asked without looking up, her pencil moving lightly across the page.
"Signed."
Shuichi leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes; his temples throbbed.
"Thirty billion. The first installment arrives tomorrow."
Satsuki's hand paused briefly, then drew a neat checkmark in her diary.
"Good."
She closed the volume with a soft thud.
"With this money, we can deliver a grand gift to the Seibu Group."
Shuichi opened his eyes and turned toward his daughter.
"Satsuki, President Kanda said that not borrowing money now is like walking naked in the street."
"Was he correct?"
Satsuki glanced through the tinted window at the Mitsui Bank building, which loomed like a colossal beast. An armored truck was slowly emerging from the underground garage, flanked by vigilant armed guards.
"He was correct."
Satsuki's lips curved into a playful arc.
"However, he omitted the second half of the sentence."
"What is that?"
"Once you get a golden suit of armor woven from borrowed money, you are no longer yourself."
"You become a slave to desire. You become a laborer for the bank. You become part of the bubble itself."
She turned back and offered Shuichi a sweet yet utterly cruel smile.
"But that is all right, Father."
"We are not the slaves."
"We are the ones who swing the whip."
"Drive, Fujita."
"To Akasaka."
"We must see whether that pink cage is ready to receive its birds."
The black sedan slipped smoothly into the flow of traffic, vanishing into the gray, frantic Tokyo afternoon thick with the scent of banknotes.
Behind it, the electronic display ticked upward by another point.