Satsuki walked to the window with a teacup in hand, and Shuichi followed with one of his own.
Outside the window, Leningrad appeared even more like an imperial city in the night than it did during the day.
Streetlights illuminated the golden outlines of the Baroque-style building facades, and a faint band of light cut across the night sky in the direction of the Neva River—it was hard to tell if it was fireworks or searchlights.
In the distance, a muffled cheer could occasionally be heard, wrapped in the wind, intermittent and indistinct.
"Is someone in Tokyo unable to sleep?" Shuichi held his cup, his gaze fixed on the lights outside the window.
Satsuki took a sip of tea. "Gondo has probably finally realized that Seibu cannot offer him a way out."
"Should we handle it in advance?"
"No need. Since he is still sending letters through the Saionji family's channels, it means he is still standing inside the door. People inside the door are, for now, more useful than those outside."
"If we move against him now, he might do something stupid when backed into a corner."
Shuichi nodded, not asking any further questions.
Another burst of fireworks sounded outside, closer this time, with red and golden sparks blooming beneath the low clouds before being quickly scattered by the wind.
"This city..." Shuichi watched the fireworks, "still looks like an imperial capital."
Satsuki withdrew her gaze from the fireworks and let it fall onto the steaming cup of black tea on the windowsill.
"This is the Soviet Union's last New Year."
Shuichi froze, turning his head to look at her.
"How long?"
"Less than a year."
Shuichi was silent for a moment.
He silently drank half the tea in his cup and set it on the windowsill.
"You are quite certain."
"It is written in the history textbooks." Satsuki smiled, her voice very soft.
Naturally, she could not say this to a third person.
In this living room with the curtains drawn tight, facing her father, she would occasionally relax that precise shell of hers.
Shuichi did not ask about the source of the "history textbooks."
He had long been accustomed to his daughter occasionally making judgments that transcended her age and experience, and he had long ago given up on trying to explain these judgments with common sense.
He only needed to know that if Satsuki said less than a year, then it was less than a year.
"You speak of the Soviet Union in a tone that makes it sound like an old house about to be auctioned off."
"Pretty much." Satsuki's gaze fell outside the window. "It is just that this old house is too big; it has housed armies, factories, the Academy of Sciences, oil fields, mines, ports, and an entire credit system painted in red. Once its nameplate is taken down, everyone will rush in to grab the most conspicuous items."
"Oil fields and mines?"
"And also bank accounts, fleets, warehouses, railways, aluminum ingots, titanium alloys, scientists in research institutes, and those who are anxious to exchange rubles for US dollars."
Shuichi turned his head.
"So you want the ports and the cold chain."
"And also warehousing, medical services, settlement, and operational rules that the local government is willing to recognize." Satsuki said, "Factories can be bought, mines can be bought, and scientists can be hired, but without a door, without a scale, and without a path to get goods from the chaos to hard currency, even the best assets will just sit there and rot."
Shuichi was silent for a moment, then laughed, "I thought that at least tonight I could avoid hearing about balance sheets."
Satsuki also laughed.
"This is much more interesting than the Kōhaku Uta Gassen. There is a New Year in Tokyo every year, but this is the only time for the red empire's last New Year's Eve."
Shuichi looked at her profile.
She was still very young, and when standing by the window, her figure had not yet completely shed the slenderness of a young girl.
Yet, in the eyes with which she looked at this city, the only thing that remained the same as a young girl was the desire to possess.
It was just that what a young girl usually wanted was a doll, while what she wanted was to tear a piece of meat from the two poles of the current world.
Shuichi did not feel there was anything wrong with this.
The Saionji family had not reached where it was today by relying on gentleness and nostalgia.
When an era is about to end, there will always be people crying, singing, raising flags, or stuffing old badges into drawers, and there will always be someone standing on the side calculating transportation costs, exchange rates, storage fees, and the order of succession.
His daughter simply admitted this earlier than anyone else.
Shuichi smiled faintly and shook his head, his gaze returning to the outside of the window.
The frequency of the fireworks increased, indicating that midnight was approaching.
The image on the television changed.
The variety show stopped, replaced by a solemn studio, with red flags and pine branch decorations in the background.
A man sat at a desk, his face serious, preparing to read something.
"Ah, it is starting, it is starting." Emi sprang up from the sofa. "The New Year's address!"
She ran to the TV and crouched down, her face very close.
Chizuru walked out from the kitchen, carrying a tray with several glasses and a bottle of Soviet-made champagne.
The label on the bottle was crudely printed, and the gold lettering was somewhat faded.
"This was left by Kozlov." Chizuru placed the tray on the coffee table, "He said it was a New Year's gift."
Emi immediately leaned in. "Oh—Soviet champagne!"
She reached for the bottle, but Chizuru pressed down on the bottle mouth a step ahead.
"Wait for the Eldest Miss to say we can open it."
Emi pulled her hand back, but her eyes kept staring at the bottle.
Fujita walked over from the security room and stood at the living room door.
He was not wearing his suit jacket today, only a shirt and vest, looking a bit more relaxed than usual.
Satsuki turned back from the window, looking at everyone present.
"Open it."
Chizuru unscrewed the bottle.
As the bubbles surged from the bottle mouth, Emi let out a small cheer.
The champagne was poured into glasses; the color was lighter than Satsuki had expected, and the bubbles were not particularly fine, appearing as a somewhat murky gold under the light.
Emi picked up a glass, sniffed it first, and frowned. "The smell is so strange..."
She took a sip anyway.
Then her whole face scrunched up.
"It is so sour, and there is a flavor I cannot describe."
"Soviet champagne has a higher sugar content than French champagne, but it is also more acidic." Satsuki said, "You do not have to drink it if you do not like it."
"I do! It is a rare occasion!" Emi forced another gulp down, her eyebrows still furrowed. "It is just, how should I put it, it is not quite like the champagne we usually drink."
Chizuru held her own glass, took a small sip, and there was no change in expression on her face.
"It is drinkable." She commented.
"Chizuru, is your sense of taste broken..."
Satsuki took her glass from Chizuru and tasted a small sip.
It really did not taste good.
It was not the same species as any champagne she had ever drunk in Tokyo or New York.
But in this rough, sweet-and-sour taste, there was actually a peculiar sense of reality—like the city itself, not refined, not fastidious, but still bubbling.
"Fujita." Satsuki looked toward the door.
Fujita bowed slightly. "Eldest Miss."
"Come have a drink. You do not need to stay tense all night today."
Fujita hesitated for half a second.
In his cognitive framework, drinking while on duty was not a permitted act.
But also in his cognitive framework, whatever Satsuki said was the rule.
He walked over, picked up the last glass from the tray, and Chizuru poured him a small half-glass.
The solemn voice of the announcer came from the TV, reading something in Russian.
Satsuki could understand it—it was the end of the New Year's address, wishing the people of all Soviet nationalities unity, progress, and happiness in the new year.
The countdown began.
Ten, nine, eight.
Emi counted along, in Japanese.
Seven, six, five.
Denser sounds of fireworks came from the distance.
The Leningrad sky was illuminated by clusters of light—red, green, gold—as if someone had scattered a handful of crushed gemstones into the night sky.
Four, three, two.
Shuichi raised his glass.
One.
The host on TV raised their voice, and the distant bell chimed in response.
Several fireworks rose into the sky outside the villa, one exploding mid-air, its light briefly illuminating the snow, tree shadows, and the gray-green outlines of buildings in the distance.
The Soviet Union entered 1991.
The countdown officially began.
"Happy New Year." Satsuki raised her glass.
"Happy New Year." Shuichi clinked his glass against hers.
"Happy New Year!" Emi raised hers the highest, even though she had already drunk the contents of her glass down to the dregs.
Chizuru nodded slightly, not saying a word, just lifting her glass lightly toward the front.
Fujita stood straight with his glass, as if participating in some ritual.
He opened his mouth.
"...Happy New Year. I wish the Eldest Miss and the Master good health."
His voice was so stiff that Emi almost sprayed out what she had just drunk.
"Fujita, have you never said well-wishes in a non-work setting before—"
"Shut up and drink yours." The tips of Fujita's ears turned slightly red.
Satsuki laughed.
Chizuru distributed the snacks she had brought onto everyone's small plates.
Toraya's yokan was sliced thin and placed on the same table as Soviet pickles and coarse bread, creating a visually absurd scene.
The address on TV ended, and the image cut to the clock tower of Moscow's Red Square.
The bell started to ring.
At the same moment outside the window, dense sounds of fireworks came from the distance, more intense than at any time before.
The Leningrad night sky was torn open by several beams of light—red, green, gold—some looking like professional fireworks, some likely just small firecrackers bought by residents themselves.
The ice on the Neva River reflected fragmented spots of light.
Further away, someone was shouting.
The sound was indistinct, mixed into the wind and the sound of firecrackers, impossible to tell if it was a cheer or something else.
1991.
Emi pressed against the window glass to look out, her nose tip pushing a circular transparent area into the fog on the glass.
"So beautiful..." She whispered, "Although there are far fewer than in Tokyo."
The people of Leningrad were cheering just the same.
Someone in a distant residence opened a window and shouted outside, and the sound of an accordion drifted from a balcony; it was unclear what song was being played, the tune cheerful but slightly out of tune.
No one knew what they were about to face.
Satsuki put down her glass and looked at the flickering lights outside the window.
"Happy New Year." She said it again.
This time it was said toward the outside of the window.
To those who had stood in long lines and were rushing home carrying fir trees and cheap champagne.
To those who still did not know what their factories would become next year, or what their savings would shrink into next year.
Shuichi stood beside her, still holding the unfinished glass of champagne.
"And what about us?"
Satsuki withdrew her gaze and looked at Shuichi.
"We go back to Tokyo."
She drank the last sip of wine in her glass.
The sourness of the Soviet champagne slid down from the base of her tongue, leaving only a faint, fuzzy sensation of bubbles.
"First meet Gondo, then prepare to pick up money."
Shuichi looked at her, the smile lines at the corners of his mouth appearing again.
"This time next year," Satsuki placed the empty glass on the windowsill, "this country will have to change its name."
The accordion in the distance was still playing.
The tune had changed to another song, this time played more slowly, as if the person playing had already drunk too much.
The last New Year passed just like that.