Reborn in Tokyo: From Heiress to Global Tycoon

Chapter 198 The King of Real Estate

October 22, 1989.

Nikkei Average: 30,120 points

8 PM. Niseko, the upper part of the main building of Gokurakukan.

The wind and snow raged wildly across the open fields.

Inside of the glass.

In the lobby of the "Tenkyu" luxury club, a constant temperature system keeps the indoor temperature at a comfortable 22 degrees Celsius. Hidden beneath the lush greenery, microporous humidifiers are evenly spraying out water mist.

The air was filled with the cool, ethereal aroma of fine agarwood, mixed with the rich tobacco scent of burning Cohiba cigars from Cuba.

In front of a cigar bar on the right side of the lobby.

Four men in dark, bespoke suits stood. On their collars, each wore a handcrafted "Left Three Bars" emblem made of sterling silver and black onyx. The silver base gleamed with an extremely sharp metallic luster under the warm yellow spotlights above the bar.

Tokuhiro Eguchi, president of Saionji Construction Company.

He held a glass of iced soda, his eyes fixed on several blueprints on the marble bar counter.

"Here... the deep foundation pit work for the new Odaiba commercial street must be accelerated." Eguchi lowered his voice, his rough fingertips tracing heavily along the edge of the blueprints. "The bottom waterproof structure must be completely capped before the winter freezing period begins next month."

Tadashi Yanai, the Uniqlo executive standing next to him, nodded slightly.

"The contingency plan for the new retail stores has been finalized. Once the site is handed over, all the shelves and POS terminals will be fully operational within 72 hours," said Tadashi Yanai, his voice equally deep.

During their conversation.

Standing on the right, Executive Director Endo held a glass of Yamazaki whisky with an ice ball. He took a big gulp, letting the icy liquid slide down his throat, then let out a long sigh, his previously tense shoulders completely relaxing.

"To be honest, Masato-kun," Endo said, looking at the glistening ice ball in his glass, his tone tinged with a sense of relief at surviving a disaster, "last winter, when the construction bills for this building were flying onto my desk like snowflakes every day, I had to take two stomach pills every night to fall asleep."

Standing next to him, Masato Saionji had one hand in his suit trouser pocket and a champagne glass in the other, looking relaxed.

"But you still signed them in the end." Masato said calmly.

"Because I can't argue with the young lady." Endo smiled.

He raised his head, his gaze passing over the greenery in the hall, and looking at the political and business tycoons who were toasting each other, their faces flushed.

"However, after seeing the transaction summary of the underlying system this morning... my stomach suddenly stopped hurting."

As the chief financial officer, seeing these people willingly empty their pockets and quickly cover the huge expenditures in his ledgers gives him more peace of mind than anything else.

Masato raised his champagne glass and turned slightly toward Endo.

"You can stop taking your stomach medication completely."

"Hehehe..."

Endo's wrinkles around his eyes smoothed out. He picked up his whiskey and lightly clinked glasses with Masato's.

The ice puck struck the side of the glass, making a very slight, crisp sound that quickly blended into the faint sound of flowing water coming from the center of the hall.

Endo put down his glass, his gaze passing over the interlacing reflections of the wine bottles to settle on the constant-temperature water curtain in the center. Water flowed silently down the black marble surface, splashing tiny droplets in the pool below.

On the deep red pure leather Chesterfield sofa in front of the water curtain wall.

Zhong Neigong, the founder of the Da Rong Group, leaned back in his chair, a large Cohiba cigar between his thick fingers. Grayish-blue smoke billowed from his mouth, swirling and rising before the water curtain.

Sitting opposite him was Yoshino, the president of Mitsui Bank.

President Yoshino held a glass of whiskey with spherical ice cubes in his hand, a gentle smile on his lips.

Beside the two men sat several middle-aged men with slightly weathered faces, who sat respectfully.

The presidents of these large manufacturing companies in the Kansai region are holding crystal glasses in both hands. Calluses from years spent in the workshops still linger on their knuckles. The whiskey in the glasses swirls with amber light on the glass's surface as their hands tremble slightly.

During the past year's "appreciation recession," these companies were on the verge of bankruptcy and were only able to survive by being acquired by the Saionji Group as low-level contract manufacturers.

"Mr. Yoshino, regarding the low-interest loan extension for the next quarter..." A Kansai company president bowed slightly and asked in a very humble tone.

President Yoshino took a sip of whiskey.

"As long as the order volume from the Saionji family remains stable, the bank's risk assessment will naturally give you the green light," President Yoshino replied with a smile.

The huge sums of money and the continuous stream of industrial orders facilitated by the Saionji family acted like an unbreakable steel cable, tightly binding these previously unrelated manufacturing and financial giants together, forming the absolute centripetal force of this circle.

On the other side of the landscaped garden, there are scattered, precious green plants.

Toshifumi Suzuki, the actual person in charge of 7-Eleven, is holding a bone china coffee cup.

Sitting around him were two senior bureaucrats from the Ministry of International Trade and Industry's Industrial Policy Bureau, as well as several unfamiliar blond-haired, blue-eyed Americans.

These senior representatives from Silicon Valley tech giants like Cisco and IBM, holding glasses brimming with vintage red wine, raised their glasses, their faces flushed, to the Ministry of International Trade and Industry officials opposite them, speaking broken and slightly awkward Japanese.

"To free trade!" an American representative shouted, the wine swirling violently in his glass.

Officials from the Ministry of International Trade and Industry responded with smiles and raised their glasses.

Thanks to the Japanese telecommunications barriers that Saionji's intelligence system had previously forcibly broken down, these American hardware manufacturers amassed astronomical profits in this island nation. The previously tense technological barriers and trade frictions across the Pacific were transformed into tangible dollar settlements at the dinner table set up by the Saionji family. Driven by these enormous profits, Silicon Valley's greed and Kasumigaseki's compromise reached a brief consensus amidst the clinking of glasses.

However, given the Saionji family's series of "capital operations" in the United States recently, there is now discontent within the US government.

The area near the constant-temperature wine cellar has been set up as a bar area.

The interplay of light from the crystal glasses was somewhat dazzling under the spotlights of the wine cabinet.

Several senior executives from the Yomiuri Shimbun and Asahi Shimbun were holding wine glasses and talking quietly with the managing director of Dentsu GG Corporation.

"The next step in the marketing strategy for the Odaiba development project should still focus on the 'miracle of the Heisei era'..." Dentsu's managing director lowered his voice, his fingers sliding along the rim of his wine glass.

"Understood." The editorial board member of the Asahi Shimbun nodded. "We've already reserved two full pages..."

Interspersed around these media giants who control the nation's eyes and ears is a scene that is strikingly anachronistic.

Several former heads of aristocratic families, dressed in old-fashioned silk kimonos and with gaunt faces, were sitting with several newly rich real estate tycoons from the Kanto region, wearing pure gold Rolex watches and with oily, ruddy faces.

"My lord, regarding that abandoned forest behind Karuizawa, and that Yohen Tenmoku tea bowl from the Kamakura period..."

"One billion yen. Please accept this. If it's not enough, I can have the finance department add more tomorrow."

Backed by the "ultimate golden brand" of the Saionji family, the nouveau riche used truckloads of cash to buy up the ancestral antiques and abandoned fiefdoms of the old Chinese elite. The two sides exchanged business cards with knowing smiles.

"bite."

A crisp clang of brass suddenly pierced through the low conversation and soothing background music in the hall.

The indicator light for the private elevator is on.

Two heavy brass doors, covered with intricate carvings, slid smoothly open to the sides, accompanied by the precise meshing of internal mechanical gears.

Time seemed to stand still in the hall at that moment.

Shuichi Saionji stepped out of the elevator.

He wore a minimalist, deep black tuxedo suit, the silk satin collar gleaming dimly under the light. His custom-made, hard-soled leather shoes made a dull thud on the pure Afghan handmade silk carpet.

With steady steps.

The old butler, Fujita, dressed in an impeccable tailcoat, followed silently, half a step behind.

The moment Shuichi stepped onto the wool carpet.

Tokuhiro Eguchi, Tadashi Yanai, Executive Director Endo, and others at the bar on the right immediately stopped all their conversation.

They quickly put down their wine glasses and blueprints. Turning around, they stood with their feet together, backs straight, and bowed in unison towards the direction Xiuichi had come from.

The four men bowed at the same angle, their suit fabric taut against their backs.

The conversation in the center of the hall was like a radio that had been unplugged, instantly muted.

Zhong Neigong placed the burning cigar on the edge of the crystal ashtray. Suzuki Toshifumi straightened up. The powerful bureaucrats from the Ministry of International Trade and Industry and representatives from American technology giants all stood up from their leather sofas.

They raised their glasses and nodded slightly in the direction of Shuichi.

Xiuyi did not stop.

His expression was gentle, and he glanced at the crowds waving to him on both sides, nodding and smiling in response.

He walked through the wide passageway that the crowd automatically parted to the sides, heading straight to the deepest part of the hall.

The conversation in the hall only gradually resumed after he had completely disappeared from everyone's sight.

At the far end of the hall, right next to that sloping panoramic glass curtain wall.

The lounge area features several Chesterfield sofas, handcrafted from calfskin imported from Italy.

With the support of the Saionji family, Ichiro Osawa, who has become the de facto leader of the Liberal Democratic Party and the real mastermind behind the cabinet, is casually leaning back on the sofa.

Seated on the single sofa to his left is Yoshiaki Tsutsumi, the commander of the Seibu Group.

Shuichi walked to the sofa. He casually picked up a glass of whiskey with an ice ball from a passing waiter's tray and sat down in the empty seat opposite the two of them.

Ichiro Osawa forcefully stubbed out the cigarette between his fingers in the ashtray. The last ember struggled twice in the ashes before being completely extinguished.

His gaze shifted slightly downwards, glancing at the heavy floorboards beneath Xiu Yi's feet.

Although the soundproofing layer perfectly absorbed the noise from the floors below, the massive sound waves created by the thousands of gamblers and pleasure-seekers were still transformed into an extremely weak yet continuous low-frequency physical vibration through the building's main steel structure, which traveled down the carpet to his feet.

This powerful political figure, who wielded immense influence in Nagata-cho, adopted an extremely humble posture when facing Shuichi Saionji. He leaned forward slightly, his face beaming with smiles.

"Mr. Shuichi." Osawa's address carried a clear air of respect, his tone filled with admiration. "I just took a lap around the roulette area on the ground floor. The way those club presidents threw their chips around was like throwing waste paper into a furnace. The speed at which this building rakes in money is truly eye-opening."

Osawa picked up the wine glass on the table and raised it slightly towards Shuichi, his eyes showing the eagerness of a subordinate seeking advice from his boss. "This money-devouring behemoth has been operating at full speed for seven days. I wonder what astronomical figure the accumulated revenue has reached? It would be good for me, a poor politician who relies on your support, to broaden my horizons."

Sitting on the other side, Yoshiaki Tsutsumi didn't turn his head. He remained gazing out the window at the blizzard.

But the moment Osawa asked that question, his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around the Burgundy glass.

This real estate tycoon, who controls one-sixth of Japan's land, is listening intently.

Xiu Yi leaned back on the sofa, his posture languid and composed.

He didn't show any delight at Osawa's flattery; he simply picked up the whiskey in front of him and took a sip.

"You flatter me, Mr. Osawa. It's just earning some pocket money."

"The first seven days. This includes the actual net inflow of casino chips at the bottom level, box consumption at the mid-level circular theater, food and beverage settlements in the global ingredients area, and the hammer commission from the top-level mini-auction house."

Shuichi's gaze swept over the two people opposite him.

Total operating revenue: 50 billion yen.

The air in the rest area paused for an extremely small moment.

Osawa Ichiro's fingers, which were holding the cigarette, stiffened for a moment.

Less than half a second later, he burst into an extremely hearty laugh.

"Hahaha! Five hundred billion!"

Ichiro Osawa slapped the armrest of the sofa hard, his laughter echoing in front of the wide glass curtain wall.

"Even if the Ministry of Finance's printing presses are running at full speed, they probably can't keep up with Mr. Shuichi's income! It seems that I'll have to shamelessly continue to rely on the Saionji family for the election funds of those young members of my faction next year."

Osawa spoke these words with remarkable ease, revealing to Tsutsumi Yoshiaki his extreme dependence on the Saionji family's funds without reservation. He also skillfully concealed the shock he felt inside.

Five hundred billion yen. In just seven days.

This completely contradicts the revenue models of conventional commercial real estate and entertainment venues. Osawa quickly calculated in his mind that the first thing he would do upon arriving at the Diet building the next morning was to instruct his confidential secretary to verify the fund flow data of several major settlement banks in the Niseko region through internal channels of the Ministry of Finance to confirm its authenticity.

And beside Ichiro Osawa.

Yoshiaki Tsutsumi's brain processed the number in a fraction of a second.

Reason told him immediately that this went against the common sense of profitability of traditional asset-heavy hotels, and was absolutely impossible.

But... the Saionji family has no reason to lie to themselves...

He slowly turned his head, his gaze passing over the coffee table, piercing through the howling wind and snow, and landing on the edge of the fir forest several kilometers away from the Paradise Pavilion.

There, the Prince Hotel Ski Resort, an early investment of the Seibu Group, stands quietly in the darkness.

Those traditional concrete buildings, with only a few windows letting in a faint yellow light, looked like dilapidated matchboxes abandoned in the wilderness amidst the raging blizzard.

The Prince Hotel... is it a bit run-down?

Yoshiaki Tsutsumi's gaze returned to his feet.

This hourglass-shaped tower, which is frantically absorbing wealth, is like a burning sun, recklessly spewing out light and heat, devouring all the wealth around it.

The immense sense of loss was like a sharp steel knife, mercilessly piercing through his pride and self-esteem, which he had always been proud of in the real estate industry.

He picked up his wine glass and drank the rest of the red wine in one gulp.

The rich tannins spread across his tongue, slid down his throat, leaving a lingering dryness. An indescribable sourness, mixed with a pricking pain, spread rapidly deep within his chest.

"Shuichi-kun."

Yoshiaki Tsutsumi put down his empty cup, his voice still deep and resonant.

Although he seemed a bit sullen to outsiders today, he still felt that he had perfectly maintained the dignity and prestige of a top conglomerate.

"The business logic behind this building is truly eye-opening, as it meticulously stratifies human desires vertically and then encases them with the ultimate in hardware facilities."

He reached out and smoothed out a tiny wrinkle on the cashmere sweater.

"I have some overseas conference calls to attend to. I won't disturb your enjoyment any longer. Excuse me."

Yoshiaki Tsutsumi stood up, nodded slightly to Shuichi and Osawa, and then turned and left.

He walked alone in the corridor.

His steps were steady, and his back was straight.

He slowed his pace slightly as he passed a row of water curtain walls reflecting warm yellow lights.

The water flowed silently down the black stone. Yoshiaki Tsutsumi stopped in front of the water curtain, looking at his slightly distorted reflection in the water.

He looked up at the steel skeleton above him, interwoven and exuding a cold, industrial beauty.

The seeds of jealousy and greed had already taken deep root in his heart.

No rush... these will all be mine sooner or later.

He could wait, wait for the moment when the Saionji family showed signs of fatigue.

The Saionji family is too arrogant and conceited; they have expanded their operations far too much.

All we need is a trigger, a trigger that loosens the Saionji family's financial chains...

Seibu Group will definitely be the king of the real estate industry.