September 15, 1988, 2:00 AM.
Tokyo, Shinbashi, Minato Ward, Apex Group Headquarters Building.
In the deep night after the typhoon had passed, the air still hung heavy with damp. This building — once the self-proclaimed "pioneer of the information age" — now resembled a massive, brightly lit, airtight iron coffin.
Every entrance and exit had been sealed by Saionji Security personnel. From the outside, the blinds were drawn tight. Only thin slivers of pale light bled through the gaps.
Chief Financial Officer's Office.
There was none of the chaotic noise you'd expect from a corporate collapse. Instead, the room was so quiet it made your ears ring. The air smelled of paper and the faint ozone tang of high-powered printers running hot.
Zzzzt—
The sound of packing tape being ripped was piercing in the dead silence.
Apex's original CFO, Takagi, was slumped in his leather swivel chair. His face was the color of paper. His eyes were bloodshot. He clutched a handkerchief, but no matter how hard he wiped, he couldn't stop the cold sweat beading on his forehead.
In front of him, several men in black suits worked with methodical precision. They weren't shoving documents into shredders like you'd expect from a typical "corporate liquidation." Instead, they were stacking ledgers, vouchers, and bundles of stock transfer records — pulled from the deepest part of the safe and bound with rubber bands — into silver metal briefcases.
If any of the names on those documents leaked, it would trigger a magnitude-eight earthquake in Nagatacho.
"Ex… Managing Director Endo."
Takagi's voice shook as he looked at the man standing by the window, his back turned.
"Aren't… aren't we going to burn these?"
If they didn't burn them, once the Special Investigation Department stormed in tomorrow…
Endo turned. He pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. The lenses caught the light, flashing cold and sharp.
"Burn them?"
The corner of Endo's mouth curved into a meaningful arc.
"Mr. Takagi, we are respectable businessmen. We never destroy 'important assets.'"
He walked to the row of silver cases and patted the cold exterior of one with his palm.
"These are the 'favors' President Ezaki left behind. If we burn them, wouldn't the favors those big shots owe us go up in smoke too?"
Takagi froze, his lips trembling. "But… but if they're found during the search…"
"They won't be found."
Endo picked up a seal stamped with "Saionji Industries" and pressed it meticulously over the seam of the case.
"Because tonight, these are going where they belong."
He looked up at Dojima Gen, who stood by the door like an iron tower.
"Director Dojima, these are 'gifts' for Mr. Kanemaru. Be careful. Don't let so much as a corner get bent."
Dojima Gen nodded, expressionless. With white-gloved hands, he lifted two of the heavy metal cases as if they weighed nothing.
"Only by returning the hilt of the sword to its owner will they believe we're 'one of them,'" Endo murmured to himself. Then he looked at the terrified CFO.
"As for the rest…"
He pointed at the pile of ordinary accounts on the floor — inconsequential commercial kickbacks, nothing more.
"The shredder's over there. If we're putting on a show, we do it properly. We need to leave the prosecutors who rush in tomorrow morning with the impression that 'we were in the middle of destroying evidence.'"
---
At the same time, second basement level.
Apex Computer Center.
Compared to the cold political calculus upstairs, this place had a sci-fi gloom.
The main lights were off.
In the vast server room, only the low hum of the climate-control system and the frantic blinking of red and green LEDs on rows of IBM mainframes and Cray supercomputers filled the space. Recruit was one of the very few non-research private companies in Japan at the time to own a Cray.
This was an ocean of data.
And in Saionji Satsuki's eyes, it was a gold mine.
Satsuki stood before the main console with her arms crossed, looking through the massive one-way glass wall at the silently churning "iron forest." She'd changed into a lightweight black turtleneck. Her long hair was tied back in a simple ponytail. Efficient. Unadorned.
Beside her sat a young man who looked utterly out of place in this serious environment.
He wore a gray hoodie with "Los Alamos" printed across the chest, battered sneakers, and he was chewing gum.
Shimomura Tsutomu.
This twenty-four-year-old genius had been in the New Mexico desert a month ago, writing code to simulate nuclear explosions. Now he was in a Tokyo basement, his fingers blurring across a keyboard.
He was the "monster" Satsuki had poached using all of S.A. Investment's US connections, lured with promises of "control over Asia's top supercomputing center" and an "unlimited research budget."
"How is it?"
Satsuki asked softly, watching code scroll down the screen like a waterfall.
"The firewall architecture is primitive. Vulnerabilities everywhere. But…"
Shimomura didn't look away from the screen. The data stream reflected in his thick glasses.
"The hardware is excellent. And the volume of data is staggering. The private details of two million people — home addresses, parents' occupations, personality test results… This is practically a DNA map of Japan's younger generation."
He slammed the Enter key.
Snap.
"Data migration and cleaning complete. I've formatted the old system's core. Per your instructions, I've named the new system."
Shimomura whistled and spun his chair around, excitement breaking through his usual detachment. He pointed at a new logo flashing at the top of the screen.
****
Satsuki glanced at the screen.
The dense data stream had vanished. Only a green cursor blinked against a black field.
Beep—
The mainframe emitted a long tone, like an EKG flatlining.
"Very good."
Satsuki's fingers brushed the cold console.
"Tomorrow, even if the Special Investigation Department tears this place apart, all they'll find is a pile of scrap metal."
"However, Boss…"
Shimomura paused and ejected a red magnetic tape from the reader.
The playfulness left his face. He was serious now.
"Just like you predicted. That President Ezaki was a technical idiot, but he was cunning. He left a backdoor in the mainframe's low-level logs."
"This is an electronic mirror backup of all bribery records. Times, amounts, accounts for every transfer. Even some 'special expenses' that never made it into the paper ledgers."
Shimomura handed the red tape to Satsuki carefully.
"The encryption is military-grade. If I hadn't worked on this exact algorithm at Los Alamos, I would have missed it."
Satsuki took the tape.
The plastic casing was cold and hard.
This was President Ezaki's final life preserver. It was also the fatal weakness that could bring down the LDP's Takeshita Faction in an instant.
Always keep a spare noose. You never know when you'll need it again.
"Shimomura."
Satsuki slipped the red tape into her handbag and clicked the latch shut.
"Yes."
"Forget you saw the red tape tonight."
Satsuki's voice was light, almost smiling. Yet it carried the weight of someone used to command, the kind of authority that made obedience automatic.
"Starting tomorrow, you're the Chief Technical Officer of 'Saionji Information System.' This server room, and the future data center in Odaiba, are under your management. I want you to use the data on that black tape to build the 'future-predicting' algorithm I described."
"As for the red one…"
She patted her handbag.
"It never existed."
Shimomura stared for a moment, then looked at the girl several years younger than him.
He'd met generals, politicians, Nobel laureates in the US. None of them had radiated this level of suffocating control.
He spat his gum into a tissue, stood, and gave a solemn bow.
"Yes, Boss. I'm only interested in code. Politics would just dirty my keyboard."
"Very good."
Satsuki turned. Her hard soles clicked rhythmically on the anti-static floor.
"Physically destroy all operation logs."
---
Early morning, 5:30 AM.
Bunkyo Ward, Saionji Main Family Residence.
This ancient estate, which had weathered the storms of the Showa era, was submerged in the deepest darkness before dawn. The shishi-odoshi in the courtyard made a crisp clack, only making the silence deeper.
Third basement level of the main house.
This was an absolute forbidden zone. Even Butler Fujita was not permitted to enter alone.
Clank—Rumble—
With the dull grind of a winch, the thirty-centimeter-thick, Krupp-made explosion-proof steel door slid open.
Satsuki stepped inside.
Sensor lights flared. Pale light flooded the space.
What met the eye was a wall of gold.
LBMA-certified standard delivery bars, 400 ounces each, were stacked neatly on heavy-duty shelves. They gave off a heavy, enchanting, eternal luster under the cold light.
These bars were one of the Saionji Family's final trump cards — off-book, to be used only in absolute necessity.
But Satsuki didn't glance at them.
She walked straight to the back of the vault, to a row of black safes.
"Eldest Miss."
Fujita Tsuyoshi, following silently behind her, handed over the metal box containing the red tape with both hands.
As Satsuki's personal guard, he was one of the few people in the family allowed to enter this forbidden area.
Satsuki took the box.
She entered the code and turned the mechanical dial.
Click.
Safe "001" popped open.
Inside was not jewelry, but a yellowed family tree and the freshly acquired Odaiba land transfer document.
Satsuki gently set the silver metal box inside, resting it atop the contract.
Against the cold glow of the surrounding wall of gold bars, this small red plastic tape looked plain. Insignificant.
Satsuki's fingers lingered on the cold surface of the box for a moment.
Then she withdrew her hand and slammed the heavy safe door shut.
Click, click, click.
The mechanical dial made crisp engagements as the three complex combination locks secured themselves.
Satsuki didn't linger. She strode out.
Rumble—
The Krupp steel door closed behind her, sealing all light and sin back into darkness.
In the corridor outside, the indicator light flipped from red to green.
Satsuki straightened her collar and looked toward the end of the passage. A faint sliver of morning light was leaking down through the ventilation shaft.
"It's dawn."
She stepped toward the elevator.
"Endo should have left by now, right?"
"Yes, Eldest Miss. The motorcade departed the garage five minutes ago, heading for the ryotei 'Koetsu.'"
"Very good."
The elevator doors opened.
Satsuki stepped into the cabin and looked at the refined girl in the mirror. A faint smile played on her lips.
"It's time to deliver the gift to our ally."