The off-road convoy left the snowy plains of Niseko, hammering northwest on Route 229.
Outside, the world changed hard. Endless white gave way to black basalt and a steel-gray sea. The Sea of Japan slammed the cliffs of the Shakotan Peninsula, throwing up walls of foam.
"Young Lady, we're almost there."
Satsuki was still flipping through the Niseko master plan. To have that monster built and running by next winter meant astronomical money and a construction tempo that allowed zero slack. Relay crews. No wasted seconds.
She heard Fujita Tsuyoshi, rubbed her temples, and shut the file.
She nudged Amy beside her.
"We're here."
Satsuki's voice pulled Amy out of her doze.
"Mm… are we?"
She wiped her eyes and looked out.
"Whoa! What *is*… that?"
At the end of the road, on the desolate rock of Cape Kamui — nothing but wind-bent grass and stone — sat a structure that had no business being there.
A giant complex of steel and specialized glass. Not on the land so much as in it. Half embedded into the black mountainside like a crystal, half cantilevered out over the cliff, hanging above a churning sea.
Sunset hit the curved glass curtain wall and turned the whole thing gold-red.
The plaque at the entrance had one line. Cold. Bold.
The motorcade rolled through motion-sensing gates into a climate-controlled underground garage.
Doors opened. No sea wind. The garage was spring-warm. Air carried a faint trace of ozone.
A middle-aged man in a charcoal suit and gold-rimmed glasses waited. Hair combed exact. Posture calm. He looked less like a farmer and more like a chief surgeon at a university hospital.
Professor Kijima.
Formerly University of Tokyo, Faculty of Agriculture. Poached by Saionji's headhunters with triple salary and "unlimited research budget."
"Miss Saionji, welcome."
He bowed slightly. Voice level.
"All systems nominal. Please, this way."
They took the elevator straight to the top.
Doors opened and Amy felt like she'd stepped through a season.
Outside: northern early-spring bite.
In here: humid midsummer.
The glass dome filtered UV, kept only the growth spectrum. Air smelled of fruit and clean soil, but there wasn't a speck of dust.
"This is Zone A. Fully controlled environment trial fields."
Kijima walked ahead, pointing at cultivation troughs suspended in air.
No soil.
Plants grew in tiers of white pipe and racking, roots dangling in nutrient mist. Sensors above each plant — red and green LEDs blinking — tracking temp, humidity, light, CO₂ in real time.
You could hear the water pumps' low thrum. Under that, the whisper of computer fans.
"This is an improved 'Amaou' strawberry cultivar."
Kijima stopped at a rack.
He gloved up, plucked a gem-red strawberry. Didn't hand it over. Set it on a nearby analyzer first.
Beep.
Screen lit: "Diameter 45mm, Brix 15.2, Acidity 0.5. S-Grade compliant."
Kijima passed it to Satsuki.
"We removed all environmental stress. No wind. No rain. No pests. It's a standardized product, grown under absolute care and data."
Satsuki held it up, inspecting under the purple-red grow lights.
Surface: flawless. Translucent red.
She bit.
Juice detonated. Sweet to the point of unreality.
"Perfect," Satsuki said. Flat. "Perfect like a formula."
Amy watched, swallowing.
"How… how much does one cost?" she asked, quiet.
"Excluding equipment depreciation, unit cost is roughly three hundred yen," Kijima adjusted his glasses. "If we follow Miss Saionji's 'Royal Special Supply' selection — cull anything sub-perfect — cost rises to eight hundred."
"Then sell for two thousand."
Satsuki wiped her fingers and kept walking.
"But this isn't enough. If it's just greenhouse farming, I could do it in a Tokyo basement. Professor Kijima, where's what I actually asked for?"
"Zone B. This way."
Kijima led them down a glass corridor.
Airtight door slid open.
Sea air came in — but tamed. Windbreaks stripped the violence out, left only movement.
No more hydroponic racks.
Here, the cliff's natural terracing was used. Snowmelt from the peak was diverted into a winding artificial stream.
Water clear. Running over black volcanic rock.
"This is 'controlled nature.'"
Kijima pointed to emerald clusters in the stream.
"Using Shakotan's mineral-rich water, plus flow rate we tune, we grow Japan's top-grade Mazuma wasabi here."
He crouched, pulled a root.
Stem: dull green. Not pretty. Skin rough, bumpy. He drew a small knife, shaved the skin. Inside: vivid green, juicy.
"No chem fert. No pesticides. The mountain forest is the medium. We just shield them from pests and storms."
Satsuki took it, smelled.
Fresh. Pungent. Earth-clean.
"Good." She nodded.
Then she walked to the cliff guardrail and looked down.
Below, in the bay, a section of sea was netted off. Rising and falling with the tide.
"Sea urchin grow-out," Kijima said. "Currents bring fresh seawater. We supplement with nutrient-enhanced kombu. Result: wild-level sweetness, farmed-level consistency."
"Hybrid of tech and nature."
Satsuki watched the deep blue. Corner of her mouth lifted.
Kijima signaled. An assistant brought a tray. Fresh-pulled uni, spines still twitching.
Kijima cracked one open. Five lobes of gold inside.
"A bit early in season. Wild ones aren't fat yet. But these…"
He offered Satsuki a small spoon.
She took one lobe. Ate.
Brine and sweetness hit together. Texture like cream. Zero fishiness.
"The mass farms at S-Farm — potatoes, onions — those keep ordinary people alive. Calories."
She turned to Amy, who was staring at the uni, fascinated.
"But this is for the top tier to 'live better, live longer.'
Half the output goes to Saionji family and The Club. Half sells to Tokyo's top restaurants at astronomical prices."
Satsuki pointed at the engineered mountain-sea system, then back at the glowing greenhouse.
"These aren't ingredients, Amy. This is the 'taste of privilege.'"
Amy leaned on the rail, looking at the spectacle, listening to Satsuki. Something complicated stirred in her.
She looked at vegetables raised by precision instruments in perfect climate control. They lived better than people.
"Amazing…" Amy murmured.
She looked toward the asphalt road snaking up here. Streetlights already on. Like a fire dragon coiled through black mountains.
"But, Saionji-san, something doesn't add up."
Amy pushed her glasses up. Frown.
"What?" Satsuki played with the little spoon.
"At Tomakomai Port you said we need our own logistics to bypass JA control." Amy pointed at the road. "But this road is perfect. Those utility poles… way out here, without the local JA's approval, money alone doesn't build this. Right?"
Satsuki smiled. She stopped playing with the spoon and looked at Amy.
"Amy, you're getting sharp."
Seeing that half-smile, Amy knew Satsuki was up to something.
"Alright, I'm not dumb, Satsuki-chan. I know you were putting on a show back at the farm… acting…"
Amy puffed her cheeks, fake-mad. But the doubt was real.
"What's weird is — if we already cut a private deal with JA, why run RORO ships? Isn't it cheaper to use their trucks?"
Satsuki reached over and pinched Amy's puffed cheek.
"Hmm… why indeed?"
She turned, back to the rail, sea wind in her hair.
Satsuki pointed at the smooth asphalt road in the distance.
"You're right. This road's permit was pushed through at the prefectural office by the Ogawara JA chairman himself. That substation? Built by a JA power contractor."
"We gave them what they wanted. Part of S-Farm's low-end transport contracts. Staff canteen veg contracts. All theirs."
"It's a trade. Publicly, I shout about JA monopoly so Tokyo reformers clap. Privately, I feed JA so they greenlight our 'privileges' on this land."
"Then why…" Amy was more confused.
"Because 'cooperation' isn't 'dependence.'"
Satsuki dropped the smile. Eyes went cold.
"Amy, remember this.
Paying people off buys silence. Buys a road. It doesn't mean you put your neck on their chopping block."
She made a cutting gesture in the air.
"Logistics is the aorta. If we chase cheap and use JA trucks, JA warehouses, then one day when we stop giving them a cut, or when they want to jack prices, one order and our potatoes rot in fields and our milk sours."
"Then we're on our knees begging."
"So even if it costs double, even if we buy ships, the pipe stays in our hands."
"I can give them meat. I won't give them my bowl."
Amy nodded, slowly.
As expected. Follow Satsuki-chan and you learn things.
She looked around.
CCTV every few dozen meters on the biotech center walls. Security patrolling — not locals for show.
Uniform deep black. Posture military. Earpieces. Eyes sharp.
"See." Satsuki followed Amy's gaze. "Security here isn't JA-recommended locals either."
"This is core tech. Private property. JA doesn't get to touch it."
"Even with 'allies,' you watch for the knife in the back."
Sky was black now.
The glass building behind them glowed spectral blue, stunning against the night. It harmonized with moonlight on the sea. Beautiful enough to hurt.
"Let's go."
Satsuki handed her cup to Kijima and turned inside.
"Rest early. Tomorrow morning, Ogawara JA chairman and Hokkaido Agricultural Bureau officials come for an 'inspection.'"
She paused at the auto door. Looked back.
"We need energy. Tomorrow we perform 'reconciliation' and 'building the future together' with greedy old foxes."
Amy looked at Satsuki's back.
Under that glowing glass dome, the girl looked small. And massive.
In this web of money and power, she was the calm spider. Building her empire.