Chizuru quickly organized the notes in her hand and neatly recopied them onto a sheet of schedule paper.
Each item was marked with a time slot and the responsible department, running from eight-thirty in the morning to ten o'clock at night.
She walked over to the sofa and handed the paper to Satsuki with both hands.
Satsuki took it.
Leaning back against the sofa, she tilted her head up and held the schedule up with both hands.
Her gaze swept from the first line to the very last.
The corner of her mouth twitched.
"Er... Is not this a bit too much?"
Chizuru stood to the side, her expression completely unchanged.
Fujita also stood on the other side, his expression similarly unchanged.
After all, both of them were true professionals.
Satsuki read it over again. From eight-thirty in the morning to ten o'clock at night, there were only forty-five-minute gaps left for lunch and dinner respectively. Everything else was completely packed.
Yet every single item on here was something she herself had just stated out loud.
Not a single one could be cut.
As she was worrying over the paper, her hand suddenly felt light.
The schedule was pulled away from above by someone.
"Huh?"
After the paper was taken away, her field of view was left with only the ceiling and the chandelier.
In this household, who would dare to take things directly out of her hands?
There was only one answer.
Satsuki turned her head slightly to the side.
Shuichi was standing beside the sofa. He was wearing a dark blue kimono, and his hair was neatly combed; he must have just finished breakfast.
But after getting the schedule, his brows had already furrowed.
His gaze moved down the paper line by line, and his expression grew increasingly ugly as a result.
"Good morning, Father—"
Satsuki turned her head back and let out a comfortable yawn.
"Morning." Shuichi's tone was clearly distracted; he was still looking at the paper. "Is this your schedule for today?"
"That is right, just rehabilitation training." Satsuki waved her hand.
Shuichi shifted his gaze from the paper to her.
"Rehabilitation training?"
"Mm."
"Does that mean sitting in the study for fourteen hours?"
"Er... Not really." Satsuki's fingers gestured in the air. "Do not I still have to eat lunch in the middle? At most it is sitting for thirteen and a half hours?"
Shuichi did not take up her remark.
He folded the schedule once and placed it on the coffee table.
"Satsuki."
He had entered his "lecture mode."
"I know that dealing with these matters regarding the Soviet Union is indeed profitable," Shuichi said, "but you cannot keep arranging this intensity of work for yourself."
Satsuki was still half-reclining, her gaze shifting from the ceiling to his face.
Shuichi sat down beside the sofa armrest.
"Ever since you were twelve, you have been thinking about how to make money every single day."
"However, have you ever thought about one question—"
He looked at his daughter.
"You have earned so much now. But how much of it is actually spent on yourself?"
Satsuki's mouth opened slightly.
Then closed.
She genuinely began to recall.
The airplane—that was bought for work convenience.
Travelling on commercial flights took up too much time previously; after buying a private jet, her schedule became much more flexible, freeing up several extra hours a day to handle affairs.
Cars—a necessity for travel and security.
After June 27th, Dojima Gen raised the fleet standards by another tier, replacing all vehicles' protection levels, communication equipment, and emergency devices. She herself did not care what kind of car she rode in, as long as it was comfortable and did not disturb her thinking.
Houses—there were already a bunch of them at home.
The main residence was originally where the Saionji Family had lived for generations, and she had never given any thought to whether she was buying it or not when living there.
Clothes—every month, specialists would personally deliver custom-made haute couture garments to her door.
Occasionally, they would also take her latest body measurements along the way to facilitate the tailoring of the next batch of clothes.
This routine had been fixed ever since she could remember, and she almost never participated in selecting styles herself. Whatever was delivered each time, she would just wear, saving even the time it took to pick.
Jewellery was the same; letting the head maid coordinate it was fine anyway.
As for those paintings, sculptures, and other pieces of art—
Those were all strategic investments. When buying them, the reference point was the appreciation potential ten years down the line, and hanging them at home was simply because she needed a place to put them.
She reviewed every single major expenditure she had made over the past six years in her mind.
The conclusion was somewhat awkward.
All the money was spent purely for Saionji.
Not a single cent was spent because "Saionji Satsuki wanted it."
"Er... This."
Her voice was much softer than before.
Watching her speechlessness, a helpless smile surfaced on Shuichi's face. He reached out and stroked his daughter's head.
"Am I wrong?"
Satsuki shrank her neck slightly, neither dodging nor refuting.
"What girl your age thinks about how to appreciate capital every single day?"
She lowered her head, twisting the cuff of her loungewear around her finger.
"But... if I do not do it, what happens to all this work?"
She thought about it, then sank powerlessly back into the sofa.
She did not want to work herself to death either.
If someone could judge that messy situation in the Soviet Union for her, decide for her which assets to take and which to let go, and find the optimal solution between her past life memories and current reality for her—then she would wish for nothing more.
But unfortunately, there was no one.
"Mm."
Shuichi's voice suddenly grew relaxed.
"Why not just dump it on that guy Kenjiro?"
Satsuki raised her head.
"Give him some exercise," Shuichi said, his tone turning casual whenever he mentioned his good-for-nothing younger brother. "Anyway, it is bound to be much more comfortable than pouring concrete at a construction site."
Satsuki blinked.
"Whatever you need him to pay attention to, just write a memo and give it to him. I will personally 'whip' him into completing it."
When Shuichi said the word "whip," his expression was exceptionally calm.
Satsuki stared at him for two seconds, suddenly feeling that Kenjiro's coming days might not be very pleasant.
"Sigh—Kenjiro..."
She simply sprawled her whole body across the sofa, draping her legs over the armrest and resting her head on the cushion.
She thought about it.
Bringing Kenjiro back was originally meant to share the pressure on the executive level.
Over the past few years, he had suffered quite a bit outside, cultivating abilities completely different from before.
After returning to Saionji, he had already begun touching more and more group affairs, from several specific projects to coordination among different companies, and the things handed over to him were increasing bit by bit.
The matters of the Soviet Union could certainly not be entirely dumped on him. Those judgments involving past-life memories were things only Satsuki herself could do.
But the specific execution, coordination, information organization, and daily follow-up—
It seemed she really could?
"Can he do it?"
Satsuki still turned her head to confirm with Shuichi.
Shuichi was silent for a moment.
"...I will make him able to do it."
The stress of this sentence fell on the word "make."
Satsuki suddenly felt a bit of sympathy for her uncle.
Sympathy was sympathy, though. She had no intention of giving up her day off for Kenjiro's feelings.
Before she could continue thinking further, a hand had already rested on her shoulder.
"Get up."
"Huh?"
Shuichi pulled her up from the sofa and pushed her along toward her room.
"You do not need to worry about this matter," he said as he pushed her. "Anyway, your task today is to relax, did you hear me?"
Satsuki was pushed forward, her steps staggering, and the collar of her loungewear went even more crooked.
"Fine, fine, fine, I will listen to Father—"
She dragged out her tail-end lazily.
"Just make plans with those college classmates of yours."
"Mm-hmm."
"And then I will set a goal for you."
Satsuki turned her head to the side, somewhat curious.
"Eh? There are goals for relaxing too?"
Shuichi thought for a moment.
"First spend one billion, and do not come home until you have spent it."
The air fell silent for a few seconds.
Satsuki tilted her head and looked at Shuichi for a good while.
"Well... this is not too hard either."
"Otherwise I will change it to US dollars for you."
The lethality of this sentence was finally sufficient.
Satsuki's expression changed.
Spending one billion US dollars in a single day.
The calculator in her head instinctively booted up—one billion US dollars, according to the current exchange rate, was roughly over one hundred thirty billion yen.
Within a day... actually it is not impossible to spend, buying a few companies might do it?
But if Endo saw this bill, he would probably flip straight out of his office window—without taking the elevator or walking down the stairs.
"...If I spend one billion US dollars in a day, Endo-san will cry."
"...Ahem." Shuichi gave a light cough, shifting his gaze elsewhere. "Yen, yen is fine."
Satsuki chuckled and nodded.
"Alright then, I am going to go change my clothes."
She turned and walked into her room, taking two steps before poking her head back out.
"Father."
Shuichi was still standing in the hallway.
"Hm?"
"I will write Kenjiro's memo today and give it to you tomorrow." She narrowed her eyes and smiled slightly. "Rest assured, I will write it in great detail."
Shuichi smiled as well.
"Go on."
The room door closed, and the hallway grew quiet once again.
Shuichi stood in place for a moment, looking down at the schedule he had folded in his hand.
Dense handwriting, from morning till night.
He sighed, folded the paper neatly, and tucked it into the cuff of his kimono.
Then he turned and walked toward the study.
It was time to let his foolish younger brother shine and glow.