Hokkaido in April still had winter's bite in the night wind. Not just cold — the damp kind that seeps straight into your bones.
Tomakomai Port was never quiet at night.
The air was full of diesel roars, the dull thud of heavy truck tires over speed bumps, and waves slamming concrete breakwaters. The smell was burnt heavy oil cut with the briny rot of seaweed.
Clang.
A glowing vending machine spat out a can of hot coffee.
Satsuki bent and plucked the too-hot can from the slot. She didn't open it right away. Just cupped it in both hands, leeching the warmth.
She wore a dark cashmere coat tonight, collar turned up to hide her jaw. The cut was impeccable, the fabric expensive, but out here on the wharf, with the sea wind slicing through, it was still too thin.
If safety weren't a concern, she'd have told Fujita and the others to line up and block the wind for her.
"Here."
Satsuki dropped another coin, hit the button, and handed the second can to the person beside her.
Amy took it, shivering. She hunched into her scarf until only her bespectacled eyes showed. Fog bloomed on her lenses instantly. She yanked them off, wiped them on her shirt hem, and shoved them back on.
"So cold…" Amy stomped her feet. Tap-tap on concrete. "It's worse than the Bekkai ranch."
"Mm… sea wind holds moisture. Feels colder than it is."
Satsuki cracked the tab. Hiss. Steam curled up.
"Endure it, Amy. We're looking at the blood vessels of the empire. Missing this would be a shame."
She sipped. Cheap instant coffee — cloyingly sweet — but at least it was hot.
"Tastes awful… why are there no cafés here…"
Amy clutched her coffee and followed Satsuki's gaze.
Moored at the berth ahead was a massive white ship.
Red sun emblem on the hull. The word "Sunflower." High freeboard, deck lights flooding the water. A huge ramp at the stern lay down on the pier like a tongue connecting ship to shore.
"Is that… a ferry?" Amy squinted.
"RORO ship. Mitsui O.S.K. Lines."
The answer came from a middle-aged man in a yellow hard hat standing two steps behind Satsuki. Reflective vest, walkie-talkie in hand. Tamura — head of S.A. Logistics' Hokkaido region.
He wiped his forehead. Sweat or condensation, hard to tell. He kept explaining: "Roll-on/roll-off. Built for vehicles. Carries passengers, yes, but the key is the vehicle decks. High clearance. Full-size trucks drive straight in."
As if on cue, a low rumble rolled in from the port gate.
A convoy of white cold-chain trucks came into view.
Brand-new containers. No branding except a stark black "S.A." on the side. Single file, headlights cutting the dark.
"They're here," Satsuki said softly.
The convoy didn't stop. No tedious back-up, unload, reload nonsense like a normal freight yard. They aimed straight for the ship and rolled up the steel ramp, one after another, into the vessel's belly.
Smooth. Fast. Zero wasted motion.
"This is our 'marine highway.'"
Satsuki tapped the coffee can with a fingertip.
"Leaves here, crosses the Tsugaru Strait, runs down the Pacific coast, straight to Oarai Port in Ibaraki."
She turned, watching red taillights vanish into the hold.
"By land, we'd crawl the whole length of Honshu from Hokkaido to Tokyo. Tolls. Fuel. Driver fatigue. Traffic jams. Every hiccup bleeds money and time."
"But here," Satsuki pointed at the ship, "we drive the trucks on. Drivers hit the cabins. Hot shower. Hot meal. Real bed. Sleep. Wake up tomorrow morning in Kanto."
Amy stared at the disappearing vehicles.
"So… the trucks are moving while they're 'sleeping'?"
"Exactly." Satsuki nodded. "We arbitrage time."
She drained the last of her coffee and tossed the can. Clang in the bin.
"Mr. Tamura."
"Yes!" Tamura snapped to attention.
"What's in this batch?"
Tamura didn't need his clipboard. "Mainly returning engineering equipment, about two tons of prototype fresh milk samples, and seed potato samples just collected from Tokachi."
"Testing?"
"Yes. Cold-chain stability during sea transit. Temperature loggers in the containers, recording every ten minutes."
Satsuki nodded, satisfied.
"Good. This is a drill."
She looked at Amy. Amy was nursing her half-finished coffee, pier lights reflected in her glasses.
"Amy, does this seem odd to you? Our potatoes aren't grown. Cows just got to the stalls. Output is near zero. Yet we're running empty ships. Looks like burning cash."
Amy nodded, honest. "A bit… For samples, air freight or courier would be cheaper."
"Because we don't walk other people's roads."
Satsuki's voice was soft, half-lost in the wind, but clear.
"By land, we'd go through JA-controlled distribution. By rail, we'd be at JR Freight's mercy."
Satsuki stepped to the breakwater and looked down at black water.
"Once production scales, they could choke us anywhere in the chain. A 'checkpoint' here. A 'delay' there. Fresh milk and vegetables rot on the road."
She raised a hand toward the dark sea southward.
"But this sea — they don't own it."
"This ship docks at Oarai tomorrow morning. Fleet rolls off, one hour to our 'abandoned warehouse' in Chiba."
Amy blinked. She remembered that real estate buy — a derelict warehouse in Chiba that made no sense six months ago.
"That site is now Saionji Food's central kitchen prep base."
Satsuki turned, sea at her back, eyes on Amy.
"Going forward, nothing from here goes straight to supermarket shelves.
Potatoes get steamed, mashed, become croquette filling. Onions get sliced, fried, become curry base. Beef gets sliced, simmered, becomes gyudon topping.
They become rice balls. Bentos. Meal kits.
This is 'de-chefing.' Industrialized catering."
A faint smile touched Satsuki's mouth.
"While JA fights over radish prices at Ota Market, our products skip their markets entirely. Straight to consumers' mouths."
"Right now, we're laying pipe."
"Next year, when Tokachi potatoes come in and Bekkai milk overflows, what runs through this pipe is cash. Non-stop."
Wooo——
A ship's horn cut through her words.
Low. Deep. You felt it in your chest.
The massive ramp began to rise, metal groaning. Gulls on the breakwater startled and wheeled through the lights.
The hull shuddered. Stern thrusters churned black water to white foam.
The "Sunflower," loaded with dozens of test trucks, eased away from the pier.
It didn't take Hokkaido's cold. It took Hokkaido's nutrients.
Amy watched the giant recede.
On the black sea, the stern's red signal light drew a long afterimage, bobbing with the waves — like a faint, stubborn heartbeat in the North Pacific's cold.
"Let's go, Amy."
Satsuki pulled her coat tighter.
"Test's done. This wind is giving me a headache."
Amy gulped the last of her lukewarm coffee, binned the can, and jogged after Satsuki.
The black sedan waited roadside.
Heat hit them the second they got in. Warmth wrapped around them and both shivered involuntarily.
Satsuki leaned into the leather and closed her eyes.
"Where to next?" Amy buckled up, took off her glasses, and started wiping them.
"To see a 'great artist,'" Satsuki said, eyes still closed.
"An artist?" Amy paused, confused. "Out here?"
"Yes. In a world that reeks of money, someone has to make dreams, don't they?"
Satsuki opened her eyes and glanced once more at the shrinking ship.
It was already a pinprick of light, vanishing where sea met sky.